QED1 Quod Erat Demonstrandum
by slytherinsal
Summary: but not perhaps as quite easily done as all that...Inquisitor Quaestorious investigates the murder of a Commissar on a backwater world.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 **

The Colonel was trying to hide his nervousness. And well he might be nervous, reflected Inquisitor Quaestorious. After all, finding your Commissar dead from violence did not generally happen in well-ordered Guard Regiments.

oOoOo

It was raining. It was the kind of steady, penetrating rain that found its way into every garment. Quaestorious was glad that the supply shuttle he had come down in had set him down right in the middle of the parade ground rather than at the far side of the compound by the stores. The Young Lieutenant flying it had at least a sense of decorum – a saturated inquisitor was scarcely an impressive object even to a Praetorian Colonel who looked himself like a drowned rat. At least this planet – or rather, this region of it – was relatively pastoral, so that rain was just the standard slightly carbonated water. No heavy pollutants to worry about.

The shuttle hummed behind Quaestorious as the pilot took it closer to the unloading area. They would be up and down for several days from the cramped, uncomfortable Warp-Transport on which Quaestorious was currently a passenger. He considered sardonically that the Colonel must have received news that an Inquisitor was aboard with mixed feelings – relief at being able to pass the buck of his murdered Commissar tinged with a healthy drop of fear.

oOoOo

The Colonel surveyed Quaestorious gloomily as they passed together into the dry of the main barracks block. It was a plain building of plascrete, with little attempt at decoration beyond a minimally ornamented gothic archway to the main entrance. Even the gargoyle supporters of the arch roots were undistinguished and miserable looking. Inside was little better. The passageway was narrow and dark . Sometime in the past, scenes of the lives of saints had been painted along the walls, but it had been so long since they had been renewed that they were cracked and peeling. Somehow the result was worse than if the walls had been left bare, the peeling saints appearing reproachful in their decrepit dignity.

Quaestorious had been requested to attend Colonel Rebet Strong at the small barracks on the colony world of Brummigan. The Inquisitor had agreed to break his journey since the stopover was a scheduled one for the supply ship. The Colonel had seemed strained when he had spoken on the commlink when he reported the murder of the Commissar, as well he might; and now Quaestorious wanted him to expand upon that bald statement..

"My Commissar was brutally murdered in his own room" Colonel Strong said. "And he's not been with us that long – the previous one died in battle. I thought I ought to report this…"

Quaestorious nodded, more encouraging him to go on than as a signal of agreement.

"He was murdered" repeated Strong. "And by his own bodyguard! I could scarcely believe it – but the evidence… you'll want to see it…" a tic started in his face, and he tugged tremulously at the gold braid on his scarlet tunic.

"I'll see the evidence and see what it says to me" Quaestorious said quietly. "You have held the bodyguard?"

"Oh yes, Inquisitor, he's in the cells."

"Does he confess to the crime?"

"Well… sort of."

Quaestorious stared at the man.

"'SORT of'? What kind of reply is that? Either he admits or denies guilt. 'Sort of' sounds to me like a confession obtained by coercion, Colonel" he fixed the frightened officer with a piercing gaze over his high hooked nose. Strong swallowed.

"He said it was his fault, Inquisitor. He wouldn't say any more. No one's coerced him at all" he tried to explain hastily. Quaestorious snorted.

"It doesn't occur to you that a conscientious bodyguard might just consider his principal's death to be his fault by his failure to protect him?" he asked scathingly. "This man does not sound over endowed with brains – but I suppose that's not a requirement for a minder."

The colonel smiled thinly.

"Burdock's an Ogryn. Smarts aren't their long suit" he said dryly. "But it's not just his claim that it's his fault that is the reason I have to suspect him – Sollinius' head was stove in. Surely only an Ogryn hand could do something like that – and he was stumbling around and confused when I got there. Poor man, he must have suffered a brainstorm. I don't think he remembers anything about the incident."

Quaestorious grunted non-committally. He had no intention of forming a theory without being in possession of all the facts; and he told the colonel so.

"And" he added pompously "I need to see the body before I can proceed any further."

"Certainly, Inquisitor" Colonel Strong gave no sign that the Inquisitor's fussy and pedantic manner might irritate him. A mere Colonel of the Guards, even the vaunted Praetorians, did not criticise an Inquisitor!

oOoOo

Strong led Quaestorious to the officers' quarters. The corridor was a little wider here, and had been finished in synthwood effect panelling. It had been painted dark brown however, and the dark walls appeared to converge overhead. A few tracts and icons had been hung haphazardly along the walls; Quaestorious played a game with himself as they proceeded of trying to guess who the icons were supposed to represent. He was pulled up short by one at the contrast it made with the others in its sheer staggering beauty. Unlike the gaudy, flat and unimaginative attempts that had preceded it, this painting was redolent with life. It showed an unmistakable image of Saint Lysander converting heathen, with a small figure of Mercarious in the background. It seemed to glow with light and hope.

"This is good" Quaestorious commented.

"You think so?" The Colonel sounded surprised. "It was hung there to cover a wet patch. I find it rather dull and colourless compared to the others."

"Who did it?"

The Colonel shrugged.

"One of the men. He was always daubing. He got killed in the last campaign. Not much of a soldier, anyway."

Quaestorious counted slowly to ten.

"Move this to a place that is not damp" he said. "It could be a treasure of your regiment one day. And if there are other paintings, I would like to see them."

The Colonel looked surprised.

"I expect they were burned" he said, indifferently. "The body is this way."

Quaestorious resented the attempt at a subtle rebuke.

"It's waited several hours for me." He said mildly. "It will wait a few minutes more."

Tenderly he unhooked the painting and exchanged its position for that of one of the undistinguished daubs. Then he contemplated it whilst praying fervently to the Emperor for patience in this uncultured hole. When he was ready, he nodded to Strong.

"I am at your disposal" he said.

oOoOo

Commissar Sollinius' day room was a contrast to the corridor. It was mellow and light, with a large window overlooking the chapel. The walls displayed the same synthwood panelling, but here the wood colour chosen had been light ash, and someone had tried with a modicum of success to enhance the moulded grain with darker paint. Rich hangings added to the atmosphere of comfort, and although the room exuded more of an air of luxury than Quaestorious approved of, it was at least a welcome change from the dreary corridor. A single picture hung on the wall between a pair of golden velvet drapes, and Quaestorious had no trouble recognising the style of the dead soldier artist. It showed the Emperor enthroned, head in hand, gazing thoughtfully out from sad, loving eyes. Quaestorious caught his breath. Even the scorch marks along one edge did not mar its beauty.

"Since this unit seems so sacrilegious as to try to burn sacred paintings, even of the holy Emperor" he remarked, angrily, "I trust you will not object if I take this painting into my own care. Unless the deceased has relatives."

"Take whatever you want!" The Colonel said, hastily. "I know of no relatives. But I assure you, no sacrilege was intended – we can't store the work of every common soldier who thinks he can profane the saints with his messes."

It was that he was a common soldier, Quaestorious decided. Had the painter been an officer, perhaps this boor would have seen some merit because he expected to. He wanted to say a lot; but contented himself with,

"From simple hearts and minds come forth true praise and worship" gravely he genuflected before the portrait of the Emperor, and went to work.

The body had not been moved,; Quaestorious supposed he should at least be glad of that. The Commissar had been a big man, and even death had not erased the laughter lines around the one identifiable eye. The other eye was not merely missing; it, and the majority of the left hand side of the man's face had been driven inwards, the skull crushed like an eggshell, brains seeping in a reproachful grey ooze from what remained of the cranium. Strong retched dry, and Quaestorious suspected that it was not for the first time.

"I do not require you to stay in here" he said. Strong fled, gratefully. Quaestorious knelt, with a grimace, to examine the wound more closely. Blood and brain had spattered far, and he was obliged to kneel in some of the human detritus in order to get a better look. He peered at the wound, noting its ovoid shape, deepest in the middle of the blow. He frowned, thoughtfully. The blow had been from a smooth object perhaps a little smaller than a man's head, carrying great force or weight behind it. The blow had been to the left temple, and seemed to have knocked Sollinius right out of his chair at the desk on to the floor. He had been seated, then, when his assailant had struck.

Quaestorious took his tweezers and several bags from his utility pouch, and a number of swabs, and began to take systematic samples from the wound. Emperor knew if he'd turn anything up, but he could swear that there was a greyish silver mark on a shattered shard of bone that was something other than brain matter. It bore further investigation under lenses and with the alchemical analytical engine he had….acquired….from the Adeptus Mechanicus. Quaestorious grinned to himself remembering the verbal battle royal he had had with that self important fool of a chief priest. He, Quaestorious, had managed to put the most pompous, the most sesquipedalian, the most polishedly specious arguments as to why he required this marvellous machine – and training in how to use it. A reputation for pompous fussiness made most people write him off as a finical fool and give way more easily for a quiet life – and also covered his meticulous investigations under a cloak of sheer nosiness and interference. Quaestorious did not think that he would meet with the bland resistance so often presented from this colonel; he SEEMED at least genuinely concerned for the matter to be dealt with. But one never knew. No, one never knew. Quaestorious got gingerly to his feet, trying not to touch the revolting stickiness around him, and started to look around the room. As he searched he whistled a praise to the Emperor tunelessly between his teeth. It was a bad habit, he knew, and his Father Inquisitor had sometimes commented that those who did not know him might think it heretical, but it helped him to think.

Something was missing. Something very important.

Quaestorious had not expected to find a blunt instrument left for him to discover; but there were certain items standard to the equipment of a Commissar. And one of them was a Dataslab. But the dead man's dataslab was nowhere to be found.

Quaestorious exited the room.

"The Ogryn did not kill his officer" he said bluntly. "But I suspect he may have been drugged by the real culprit to provide an easy scapegoat. Unfortunately there will not be any trace of a drug left in his system by now so we'll have no clues from that."

"Are you sure?" asked the colonel. Inquisitor Quaestorious fixed him with a steely glance and he flinched. "I – I only meant, how did you come to this conclusion, sir?" he amended.

"Then say what you mean" Quaestorious primmed his mouth and looked scornfully over his hook nose. "The wound is not large enough for an Ogryn fist – though someone has been to considerable effort to make it as big as he could. Also, there are no marks consonant with knuckle marks. The blow was made with a smooth object."

The colonel swallowed.

"I see" he managed. "So – so you will need to examine everyone here."

Quaestorious shrugged.

"Probably – but maybe not. Perhaps colonel you can help me – by telling me who disliked the Commissar."

Strong blinked.

"Why – no-one!" seeing the Inquisitor's disbelief, he added, "Sollinius was a popular man – he pursued his duty in a – a gentle way, dropping a quiet word in the ears of those who strayed from political correctness. He told me that example had a far better effect on the morale and reliability of men than punishment and fear. It seemed to work – even Captain Anthony moderated his comments after Sollinius had chatted to him!"

"Ah?"

The Colonel made an impatient gesture.

"Anthony thinks that the Hierarchy are too ready to see demons and chaos in normal human weakness. Other than that he's a good officer. That's all."

"All? It's convicted many more powerful men than a mere Captain" Quaestorious' voice was mild, but the Colonel shuddered.

"He means no harm." He defended his officer. "At least – I did not think so… perhaps I was wrong…I'm no expert on doctrine…" he tailed off in his attempt to distance himself from one of his staff who might prove dangerous. Quaestorious gave him a sardonic look. The Colonel tried again,

"I would not permit blasphemy if I thought it was present… I did not know… I did not think he meant harm…"

"I will judge that" Quaestorious said, firmly. "Now, I will speak with the Ogryn – Burdock, I think you said his name is?"

oOoOo

Burdock was very pleased to get out of the undersized prison.

"It Dark in dere, sah!" he explained, saluting the Colonel a trifle stiffly with the wrong hand.

"Yes, well, we know that you didn't kill Sollinius so you can come out now" the Colonel explained with some impatience creeping into his voice. "And if you'd told us you'd been drugged in the first place and didn't know what had happened, you'd not have been in there at all."

The giant warrior's brow furrowed in intense concentration. He was, Quaestorious reflected, quite the largest Ogryn he had ever seen, made taller by the pith helmet he insisted on replacing on his head to salute with. At last Burdock said,

"Was I drugged, Colonel sah?"

"Yes."

Another long, painful thought.

"But I didn't know dat, Colonel sah. So I fort it was my fault for falling asleep. So I couldn't have told you nuffin' about it could I sah?"

Quaestorious managed to keep a straight face over this application of Ogryn-style logic. Strong seemed ready to burst the buttons off his tunic as he fought to retain some semblance of patience.

"If I may, Colonel…" Quaestorious spoke softly, but Strong stiffened to attention at the authority in his voice.

"My Lord?"

"I would talk with Burdock alone. I'm sure you have plenty of paperwork concerning this – unfortunate - occurrence."

Strong knew a dismissal when he heard one, and turned on his heel, trying not to seethe at this cavalier treatment.

"Come, Burdock, let us go to your quarters" said Quaestorious. "It will be more comfortable – and besides, I intend to move into your late Commissar's rooms as soon as they have been cleared up." He smiled to himself as he saw the big man observing him covertly. Curiosity was a sign of higher than usual intellect in Ogryn – perhaps Burdock knew more than he realised and would be able to be of significant help!

Burdock saw a tall lean man dressed in a plain, black robe with a cowl drawn loosely up onto the head. His eyes widened at the inconspicuous but informative 'I' badge that marked Quaestorious' calling. Burdock had never met an Inquisitor before, and felt a brief moment of fear; but the face within the cowl seemed ordinary enough, even handsome by human standards. The nose was large and hooked, the eyes deep sunk but piercing, strangely light grey in a face weatherbeaten and tanned. The face was not young, but nor was it yet old. There were light, almost imperceptible lines around the eyes and at the top of the nose, suggesting that worry was not unknown but had not yet made its mark overmuch, or was combated by the sardonic humour evidenced by the laughter lines at the eyes. The high cheekbones were prominent in the lean visage, and the shadows below them stopped barely short of lending it a cadaverous look. Instead the face was more wolfish, predatory, with the aquiline nose seeming to lead the man to his quarry. His hair was dark and fell forward in an unruly lock above one winged, satirical eyebrow. There was humour in the face, and gentleness, Burdock thought, not like the stories people told. He grinned, suddenly.

"Awright me lud" he said, cheerfully, and trailed after Quaestorious to the scene of the tragedy.

oOoOo

Quaestorious also like what he had seen of Burdock. Most Ogryn were simple and straightforward; this one had as well a cheerful countenance, snub nosed and child like. His fangs were relatively clean, and his eager blue eyes twinkled brightly. He did not even seem to have a noticeable body odour. The tunic, which mimicked that of the praetorians, was threadbare but not as grubby as he had expected. Especially in the light of the Colonel's unwashed collar. True, the collar of Burdock's tunic was littered with dandruff, but doubtless the poor man had little control over that.

oOoOo

As he questioned the Ogryn, Quaestorious knew his initial assessment of Burdock's intelligence had been correct. The big man took his time over his replies and needed plenty of time to think; but when he spoke he had obviously considered deeply over each question. He had, it seemed, eaten as usual and had almost immediately felt both tired and dizzy. The next thing he remembered was hearing, as though in a dream, his officer cry out, more he thought in exasperation than fear or pain.

"I tried to go frew" he explained "but nuffin worked – it was like I was finkin' inside cotton wads for bandagin' wounds if you see what I mean, sah – I mean, me lud."

"'Sir' does just fine. Just carry on" Quaestorius laid a reassuring hand on the big fist that was balled tight from the effort of thinking, the grief at the loss of one who was evidently loved and respected. Burdock nodded.

"Well, then it got black again. No, not black – more sort of dark grey and mushy" he amended. "An' then there was people shoutin' and I manage ter git up an' struggle frew an' there he is. An' the Colonel, he asks me questions an' I know it's all my fault for not waking up an' goin' to him when he cries out, see?"

A single tear trickled down the leathery cheek narrowly missing the enormous fang at the corner of Burdock's mouth.

"'Scuse me sah" he sniffed, wiping it with the back of his gigantic hand.

"You were fond of Sollinius?" asked Quaestorious.

"Sah, there weren't nobody had a bad word to say for him, 'cepting that little tart he spanked and that stuffed shirt Capting Ffarquar!" burst out Burdock. "He was – well, he was NICE! No one could want to kill him! Took care to find out people's problems, y'know? That's why he was down on that creepy confessor, f'rall he'd smarm around him tryin' ter lick his backside!"

Quaestorious forebore to point out that this was three people who might have possible motive. He merely asked,

"Why don't you tell me more about them? Maybe that will give me some clues."

Burdock shrugged.

"'T'aint much, sah" he began, adding hastily as Quaestorious looked stern, "Well, that Cybele, she's the chief of the Camp Followers. I mean, Morale Boostin' Female Auxiliaries." He added hastily, peering out at Quaestorious from under his lashes.

"Never mind the Political correctness" snapped Quaestorious testily. "I don't care what name you call the whores and cooks. Just tell me about her."

"Yes, me lud." Burdock strove to regain his train of thought. "Well, sah, Cybele, she prides herself on havin' infallible charms, so she comes on to Sollinius an' he can't stand her. So after she don't take hints so broad an Ork'd get it, he loses patience and spanks her right in front of the other women and tells her to stay the hell out of his way, beggin' your pardon for the language me lud."

The Inquisitor nodded.

"And the others? Ffarquar and the confessor?"

"Capting Ffarquar, he fancies himself to become a Commissar, sah, and he reckons he knows political right think better than Commissar Sollinius which don'' seem political right think to me. Sollinius says – said – that loving the Emperor was the only real pre – pre er, the only fing wot counted for real. Uvver fings were jus' extras. Ffarquar jus' kep' on an' on. I'm s'prised it wasn't him that confessor made up to – ol' Eliezer Cringe."

"That's not really his name?"

"Yes, sah, an' it suits him. He – well, he sort of OOZES at people, rubbing his hands together an' agreein' wiv everfing in his horrid creaky voice. Only the Commissar knew somefing bad about him, he told me – he said he was sure that he'd enough to – to stop the man's rot for good an' improve the morale of the regiment overnight!"

Quaestorious nodded. He held his own opinions of confessors, the self appointed guardians of morals for the common soldier. Many of them were either canting hypocrites or fanatics a few cards short of a full deck.

"Just tell me one more thing, Burdock." He asked. "How come you never told the colonel all this?"

Burdock hung his head.

"Well, o'course I never knew I was drugged" he began "An' I was upset at it bein' because I was asleep; an' he kep' askin' questions wivout givin' me time ter fink, an' sayin' 'speak up man'" - it was a creditable attempt at mimicking the Colonel's rather mincing tones – "An' I jus' couldn't keep up wiv his askin' so I give up. I was upset." He added again, plaintively. Quaestorious patted his arm.

"You've done very well." He assured him. "And you've given me several very good ideas to pursue over why Sollinius may have been killed."

Burdock looked pleased.

"It might be because of the stealin' too I guess." He added. Quaestorious looked at him sharply.

"Stealing? Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"You didn't ask, me lud. An' I've only jus' remembered" explained the Ogryn. "See, someone was sellin' stuff as surplus, only it weren't. The Commissar, he di'n't know who it was – it mighta even be da Colonel, so he jus' kep' quiet an' asked questions. I dunno if he'd found out who was doin' it or no. but it's all on his dataslab!" he added, brightening.

"Which is missing" said Quaestorious sourly. Burdock's face fell, and the Inquisitor forced himself to summon a smile. "But cheer up, Burdock! I shall find the truth – and I'm sure you'll help me!"

The giant nodded eagerly, and Quaestorious left him, to settle into the dead man's room, now bearing only traces of the evidence of his violent demise.

11


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Quaestorious disposed of his few possessions in the dead Commissar's sleeping chamber and prowled around the rooms, allowing the psychic energies to sink into his subconscious. There was a distinct aura of joyfulness about the room, a feeling that The Inquisitor did not associate with Commissars generally. But then, he reflected grimly, few would believe that an Inquisitor could even muster a definition of the word 'joy' let alone understand it on its most basic level. Quaestorious was not perhaps the most typical of Inquisitors – if indeed there could be said to BE a typical Inquisitor. The duties required highly motivated, dedicated individuals with the imagination and initiative to act on their own and take decisions, often difficult ones. This stern duty tended to mould Inquisitors towards a stern demeanour; and the job was also such that getting close to people was nigh on impossible. With frequent moves, and the need to always be on the alert for heresy those who did not start out as loners quickly learned how to be. Colleagues were rarely met, the Inquisition was stretched too thin as it was. Reliable and trusty henchmen and apprentices were to be treated like iridium dust, for few could exist with prayer their sole outlet for conversation.

There was a lot of evidence in these rooms of prayer. In addition to the painting of the Emperor, Quaestorious found a wide selection of tracts and icons and books of wisdom, dogma and explanations of the words of a variety of saints. Framed was a beautifully illuminated document declaring, "Diminidium facti qui coepit habet: sapere aude." – "well begun is half done: have courage, be wise." An appropriate text, thought Quaestorious. It would ever be that beginning a task was the most daunting part of it. and he must begin the task of examining samples – the room could tell him no more, only tempt him to wallow in its luxurious appointments.

oOoOo

Quaestorious bent over the desk examining the samples he had found in the dead Commissar's wound. He used a low power microscope for his initial examination; then loaded the unknown grey substance into the alchemical analytical machine and said the appropriate prayers with the usual embarrassment he always felt when so doing. Sometimes he wondered whether members of the Adeptus Mechanicus didn't take their beliefs into the realms of superstition – after all, surely devotion to the Emperor should ensure success, and the Emperor knew if the heart was pure. Quaestorious also had a sneaking suspicion that machines had nothing to do with anything but cogs and gears and – well, whatever – and no amount of prayers would make any difference. Guiltily he prayed that such thoughts might not be heresy, and applied himself with renewed fervour to the ritual.

The result did not really surprise him. The substance was lead. Quaestorious had noted on his way in that the chapel roof was being repaired – and if he remembered correctly, lead was used in the weatherproofing of roofs. Anyone could obtain lead from there and - he pondered – probably wrap it around something to form a heavy lethal blunt instrument. The drugging of Burdock made this a definitely premeditated crime with the Ogryn set up to take the blame. Malice against the giant could probably be ruled out as it was more likely that someone capable of planning so cold bloodedly was far more likely to simply not care about a fellow being. Quaestorious felt his mouth twist in a sneer as he considered that there were those who simply would not consider Burdock to even be human or one of the Emperor's children. Their heresies would be answered for when they stood before the Eternal Throne, he mused – and there were worse perpetrators of inhumanity and heresy than such, that it was his job to pursue. He had to find the murder weapon – surely with so much blood and brain matter it would be impossible to clean. In the wound he had found scraps of something skin like, yet thicker. It did not seem to be cloth, but perhaps the weapon had been wrapped in something to bring it up to size to simulate an Ogryn fist. He shut his eyes, picturing again the wound. The skull had been stove in by a horizontal blow….

A horizontal blow. Not a natural angle for a mace like weapon. It led again towards Burdock, but it would be difficult to strike thus with anything but the fist itself.

Quaestorious pushed back his chair, his eyes flashing with excitement. It had to be a cestus of some kind – an addition to the hand to enlarge it then the lead wrapped around to make a deadly false knuckle. Even a relatively weak person could achieve a fearsome blow with the weight of the lead. Quaestorious himself knew the efficacy of brass knuckles alone to add to his own skills of unarmed combat; his habit of travelling with a minimal retinue or none at all had occasionally put him in situations where violence had been the only way out. Quaestorious was a skilled boxer, and took pride in his ability to outfight many more militarily inclined men.

Of course, boxing was practised as a sport by most guardsmen. A boxing glove came close to the size of an Ogryn hand – and would protect the assailant from damage to himself. That was what the wound had made the Inquisitor think of – a fixed bout where one of the boxers had had lead sewn into his glove beneath the leather. He had only been an apprentice then, but the depth of depravity to which some of his fellow men could sink purely in pursuit of money and glory had made a deep impression on the young Quaestorious and had deepened his resolve to prove himself as an Inquisitor and dispense the Emperor's benevolent justice!

Quaestorious determined to check out the boxing gloves in the gym, and sighed mournfully over the retirement of the well trained aide he had inherited from his mentor. Old Tebarius had a nose for trouble, and a well trained eye for detail. On the few cases Quaestorious had previously undertaken, he had been able to dispatch the old man on a search of the vaguest nature confident that he would turn up something! Burdock would undoubtedly be willing, but not exactly able….yet. The Ogryn had potential if he could be encouraged to voice his thoughts and describe everything he noticed. Meantime, Quaestorious sighed. He'd just have to go look for himself, and start tabulating those who had opportunity to steal later.

oOoOo

Quaestorious found his way to the gymnasium by dint of wandering about until he got there. It seemed an aimless exercise, but he found that it gave him a better idea of the layout. He discovered that the gym could be approached from three directions, from the officers' quarters, from the main Other Ranks barracks and from outside. In effect the large airy room could be used as a short cut from any one to any other. It lay at the other end of the building from the mess halls and he suspected that the ill-lit passage from the officers' quarters to it was little frequented. The equipment in the gym was old and worn, but no attempt seemed to have been made at repair. The wooden climbing bars and parallel bars did not have the sheen of frequent use. Many equipment boxes even had a layer of dust upon them, as he discovered when he came to open the box marked 'boxing gloves'. It contained weights and a few fencing masks. Quaestorious cursed gently. He finally ran the boxing gloves to earth in a box labelled 'spare ropes''. Physical excellence did NOT seem to be a priority here. In fact, Quaestorious was beginning to wonder just what priorities were there – unless it be time-serving.

The evidence of the boxing gloves was telling, if negative. One glove was missing. Or rather, there were an odd number of gloves, which suggested that one was missing, Quaestorious corrected himself pedantically. There might be another explanation such as one having been sent for repair, or a spare being kept in case of damage. However, in the light of what he had already found, this seemed unlikely in the extreme. It was more likely that one had simply been lost and nothing done about it. However, it did at least give him a working hypothesis to go on.

oOoOo

Back in his room, the Inquisitor sighed over his lists. Too many people could have access to the supplies – Colonel Strong, supply officer Captain Derval and any one of a dozen other officers and sergeants. Nothing could be gained there without Sollinius' own notes on when the thefts had taken place. This treason was serious, but he did not have enough data. Quaestorious decided to interview those people whose names had already come up – and supply officer Derval into the bargain. Maybe then he'd have more facts to work on. He called through to Burdock.

"Burdock! Bring me coffee – and then fetch up" - Emperor's teeth, what was the name of the fellow Colonel Strong had mentioned as being reproved by Sollinius – "Captain Anthony!" he finally remembered the name.

"Capting Anthony, sah?" Burdock came in promptly with coffee and Quaestorious realised with gratitude that the big man had anticipated his needs as soon as he heard him push back his own dataslab. The Ogryn added, "The Commissar liked Capting Anthony, Sah, only he said he shot his mouth off too much an' people'd not understand."

Quaestorious shot him a look.

"Nevertheless, I would like to speak to him" he reiterated firmly.

"Awright, me lud!" Burdock saluted with the correct hand, looked at it thoughtfully and then saluted with both to make sure, and shambled off.

Quaestorious stretched his aching back and strolled over to the window. The rain appeared to have stopped, and watery sunshine struggled to play on the part-completed roof of the chapel, turning the shiny wet slates silvery in its light. Drops of rain trembled from the eaves and flashed miniature rainbows as they swayed in the air. The undistinguished stone of the chapel was gilded by the midday sun, and for a moment the chapel was turned into a fairy tale creation of silver, gold and diamond. Quaestorious drank in the vision; then it was gone as the sun was veiled by a cloud, was again a drab grey-brown building with a grey roof, wet and miserable under a grey sky.

But no-one can ever take the vision away, thought Quaestorious. I can see that chapel the way it appeared in that instant any time I want. The thought comforted him; and he returned to his chair to await Captain Anthony.

oOoOo

Captain Anthony entered, white faced, trying desperately to swagger to hide his terror. He made himself smile as he saluted.

"Anthony, My Lord" he said. Quaestorious made a show of just glancing up at him and then back at his notes; he had learned to assimilate a lot of information in that single glance, and he liked what he saw.

"Ah, Captain, be seated" he said. The young man's legs did not quite give way but it was close. He sat very erect, waiting for the questions. Quaestorious peered at him again from under the shrouding of his dark brows and confirmed his initial assessment that however outspoken Anthony might be, he held no malice. The face was open and straightforward, and his attempts to show unconcern spoke well of his courage. Quaestorious leaned back and fixed the young Captain with a steely look.

"I understand that Sollinius had cause to warn you about rash comments" he said. Anthony flushed to the roots of his hair.

"Yes, my Lord" he replied quietly. "He told me that my comments might be misconstrued, and explained to me how they might be misread or even misrepresented. He gave me instruction on doctrinal matters that enabled me to see more clearly what I had misunderstood."

Quaestorious nodded. This would be in keeping with the opinion he had formed so far of the dead Commissar – a man of great mercy. Perhaps too great if his kindness had been treated with ingratitude. He had obviously been sent to this dead and alive hole for being too liberal; Quaestorious sympathised. So many were too quick to see heresy and sin where only everyday weakness lay. The art was in distinguishing one from the other and acting accordingly, even if that meant extreme ruthlessness, even if that meant slaying innocents if it were the only way to protect their immortal souls. So many saw only the ruthlessness of the Inquisition, and failed to realise that it stemmed from a great love of mankind – a love so deep that it would accept the vilification and revulsion of the masses in order to protect them from chaos and all its works. He concentrated on the matter in hand.

"So you felt no enmity towards the Commissar?" he asked, mildly.

Anthony shook his head.

"No, my Lord, the opposite. I was grateful to him for taking the time both to – to correct me, and explain some whys to me. He could have had me punished severely for questioning policy. I'd like to wring the filthy neck of whoever did this!" his eyes shone with fervour and the dog like devotion of a man whose intellect switches off when his adoration begins. Quaestorious reflected that this Sollinius could have been a great man, maybe another Yarrick, with such ability to inspire even the frankly sceptical. He was inclined to believe the witness. Unless this Captain Anthony was exceptional, he did not think that he would be able to deceive him; his psyker powers were extremely limited, but such a blatant lie with the whole body ought to be ringing warning bells in his head.

"Very well, you are excused, Captain. Ask Captain" – he made a show of checking his dataslab – "Derval to come to me at his earliest convenience." He smiled a thin lipped, mirthless smile at Anthony, and the Captain beat a retreat, dignified by the relieved and rather sketchy salute he made at the door.

oOoOo

Naturally, Captain Derval's earliest convenience was immediately. He was in the room saluting within minutes, his uniform immaculate, every hair in place as though held by glue. Unlike Anthony he showed no fear at all, only puzzlement. It was a good sign – probably. Quaestorious went through the same pantomime as he studied Derval covertly, then asked,

"Had Commissar Sollinius spoken to you about missing materiel?"

The Supply Captain blinked.

"In a manner of speaking., my Lord." He replied, looking surprised.

"A manner of speaking? What kind of military outpost is this where I hear phrases like 'sort of' and 'in a manner of speaking'? Are you people incapable of being succinct and accurate?" Quaestorious demanded peevishly.

Derval turned brick red and scowled before he remembered to whom he was speaking and, schooling his features with difficulty, swallowed as he modified what he had been going to say.

"Lord Inquisitor, I did not mean to irritate you. Only you asked if the Commissar had spoken to me, and that implies that he had raised the matter. This was not strictly accurate. In point of fact I had brought the matter to the Commissar and we had discussed it. Thus, the 'manner of speaking' meant that he had not raised the point but that he had spoken about the incidents when I mentioned them."

"Do not be afraid to be blunt in order to tell the whole truth, Captain. You could have saved time and conveyed the same information by saying merely that it had been you who had spoken on the subject to Sollinius."

This was apparently a new idea for Captain Derval; and new ideas seemed not to be his long suit. Quaestorious watched the man absorb and digest this suggestion and suppressed a sigh. Circumlocution was evidently the fashion on this benighted planet. Why did it have to be him who was passing through this system on that damn re-supply vessel at the wrong moment, he wondered, then answered his own question. Because the Emperor required him to solve this case, and did not want him moaning about it. Reproved by his own conscience, Quaestorious pressed on.

"How long have things been disappearing?"

This required a great effort.

"About a year, my Lord" came the answer finally. Quaestorious had watched the man sub-vocalising what had happened when to relate time to.

"What has been going?"

"Surely Lord, it is all in the Commissar's notes?" Derval seemed surprised at this question.

"Humour me." Snapped Quaestorious. He did not feel like giving out gratuitous information over the missing dataslab.

"Well, let me see,…." Derval began a long, monotonous list. Quaestorious surreptitiously pressed the 'record' button on his dataslab. The man might be long winded and not too bright – Quaestorious resisted the temptation to ask him if his mother had ever dallied with an Ogryn – but at least he had a good memory for figures. If indeed this was accurate.

"You've records of this on your own dataslab?" The Inquisitor asked, sharply. Derval nodded. "Then bring it to me to check and compare" Quaestorious told him. The man nodded again.

"At once my Lord."

Quaestorious watched him continue sitting there.

"I thought you promised me it 'at once'?" he asked ironically. Derval swallowed and shot to his feet.

"I'm sorry, my Lord, as you had not dismissed me…." He lost himself in half sentences and bolted for the door with half a salute.

Quaestorious was not very proud of himself. The man seemed almost unbelievably honest in his assessment of what had gone – even admitting to his own unauthorised use of a requisition chit to provide supplies that had not been logged onto the computer – and to bait him was not kind. However, a flustered man would be more likely to blurt out truth, and the case of the stolen supplies was a strong motive for a killing. Quaestorious made up for his incivility by thanking Derval for his trouble when he brought back the dataslab, and dismissed him properly. Now to check out the correlation between Derval's memory – or admissions – and the dataslab. Discrepancies might be suspicious. As might a total correlation – which is what seemed to be emerging. Surely no man could be that accurate – or that honest? Quaestorious checked several times and paced up and down, scowling thoughtfully to himself until Burdock came in unbidden with coffee.

oOoOo

Quaestorious appreciated Burdock's habit of feeding his need for stimulants without needing to be asked. In fact, he mused, after sending the giant warrior to bring Captain Ffarquar to him, it would be handy to have an Ogryn bodyguard of Burdock's capacity himself. He determined to ask the Ogryn if he would like to come along when this was all over.

oOoOo

Captain Ffarquar proved to be self assured and confident in a fashionably languid way. Somehow he wore his uniform as though on his way to a court ball. Quaestorious disliked him on sight and strove to be pleasant to counteract any prejudice he felt.

"You understand this is all routine, Captain." Quaestorious said. "I have to talk to all the people who may not have liked Commissar Sollinius, and I'm told you quarrelled with him."

Ffarquar nodded.

"That is true, my Lord." He confirmed. "I felt it my duty to speak on more than one occasion to the Commissar. I felt that he was lax in his duty, and failed to pursue heresy with the proper vigour. I'm sure you'll agree, my Lord that heresy must be nipped firmly in the bud."

"Oh quite so." Murmured Quaestorious. He was losing patience rapidly. "Of course as an Inquisitor I am trained to recognise and combat heresy and to separate it from other, lesser crimes or indeed from pure superstition."

The comment went right over Ffarquar's head. He leaned forward eagerly.

"At last, my Lord, something will be done about that treasonous heretic, Anthony then?"

Quaestorious elevated his winged eyebrows to their fullest extent.

"Treason and heresy are serious crimes." He commented. "To accuse another of such crimes is a great business – and if spite were proved would be a serious matter."

Ffarquar was undeterred.

"Truly, terrible crimes! Why, Anthony has even been known to blaspheme to the extent of saying that the Blessed Emperor would not want his soldiers to have to eat corned beef hash six days out of seven for eleven weeks, and cursed the supply branch with terrible words!"

Quaestorious blenched. The idea of that much corned beef turned his stomach.

"And that is the basis of your accusation?" he asked, incredulously. "Truly, you have seen little real heresy or chaos. However, since you are so keen to fight it, I approve your request for a transfer to an active regiment fighting against Tyranids. I take it, however, that you did not dislike Sollinius enough to kill him?" he continued smoothly as the other took in the significance of his words, blood draining from his face. Dumbly the Captain shook his head, but felt constrained to add,

"It would not have been my place to execute him for his deficiencies. I assume that was the reason you were sent here, but came too late!"

"Do not presume to know my business!" snapped Quaestorious sharply. "You may go – I expect you will have a lot of preparation and packing to do. Do not neglect to spend some time in the chapel commending your soul to the Beloved Emperor!"

Ffarquar left, and Quaestorious sighed with relief. Burdock arrived at his elbow with more coffee and the comment,

"See? A right stuffed shirt. He don't love the Emperor, he suffers from Him."

Quaestorious laughed suddenly, but sobered up and said,

"I know what you mean, Burdock, but there as those that would not. Yes, that man is closer to being a heretic than Anthony, who truly wants to understand why things have to be hard – for he is too busy looking for heresy in others to perceive his own imperfections or to give thought to blessing the Emperor himself rather than seeking those seeming to criticise Him. The judgement of sin is a harder business than zealots and scandalmongers realise."

21


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Quaestorious was not looking forward to interviewing the confessor, Eliezer Cringe. Such self appointed guardians of morality were rarely pleasant characters at the best of times, and judging by Burdock's description this was one of the less savoury of the species. Moreover there was that comment of Sollinius that Burdock had repeated about 'stopping the man's rot'. What did that mean? Was it just that the man destroyed morale by his exhortations and denunciations? Or was there more? Quaestorious knew he would only begin to get answers as he questioned the man, and steeled himself accordingly. First he prayed for guidance. He considered using the Emperor's Tarot, but somehow it seemed to him that unless he had nowhere else to turn, this was an intrusion, using the Emperor's divine power of prophecy as though it were no more than a common tool. Some, he knew, turned to the Tarot for every little problem, but in his opinion, the Emperor expected men to use their own minds and solve their own problems. Was not His mighty plan to breed mankind until all were psychic supermen, able to stand alone without the need for their battered, dying Emperor to stand between mankind and the warp? Surely independence of thought and action was the first step down that road so that the martyred Emperor could die in peace?

oOoOo

When Quaestorious felt duly serene and ready he went in search of Eliezer Cringe in the ecclesiastical living block behind the chapel. The plascrete block was moulded roughly to resemble the same stone as was used to build the chapel, with pointed windows and doors, decorated with standard moulded devices and Imperial standard gargoyle number three. Somehow it managed to miss the intended effect by just enough to be simultaneously a caricature – and a travesty. Inside, the passages were stencilled with mock tracery, which was supposed to make the too narrow spaces seem larger. Quaestorious reflected they could scarcely seem narrower. Nothing, however could dispel the foetid atmosphere that smelled of boiled rotting vegetables. He made his way through the building to a common room, designed to resemble a monastic courtyard. Pillars divided off an outer cloister where desks were set for quiet contemplation; the central area housed several large chairs and a holovid set. Somehow it seemed incongruous. He recognised the man he sought from Burdock's description; he sat separated from other ecclesiastics by a healthy distance, thumbing through a dog-eared copy of Appillinus' 'Lives of the saints.'

The confessor was every bit as repulsive as Quaestorious had expected him to be. His scrawny body was wrapped in a filthy, ragged robe, once black but now a smeary rusty colour. He smelled bad and Quaestorious distinctly saw a flea jump within the revolting garment. The man peered up at Quaestorious and leered with his broken, rotten teeth in what the Inquisitor realised in horror was an ingratiating smile

"My Lord…such an honour to this insignificant establishment." He bowed and scraped, and seemed to encroach upon Quaestorious. The Inquisitor took an involuntary step backwards, suddenly understanding Burdock's explanation and choice of the word 'ooze'. Truly this creature made him think of something slimy and sordid. Those who mortified their flesh in supposed devotion to the Emperor revolted Quaestorious almost as much as chaos itself – for surely it was as false a vanity as ostentatious prayer and devotional gifts! Quaestorious was himself something of an ascetic, but only in respect of loving simplicity and wishing no material distractions to lead his mind from his vocation – and if he occasionally neglected his bodily needs it was more because of genuinely forgetting to eat, or being too busy to sleep than from any excess of conspicuous worship. He made himself nod genially to the ragged man.

"Eliezer Cringe, I believe" he said. The two names seemed inseparable. "I need to talk to you about the Commissar's death."

"Terrible – terrible. But a judgement you know" the dirty chin wagged knowingly at him.

"Indeed?" Quaestorious encouraged.

"Yes, yes. When I found him, lying there in his own gore, I thought so. I told myself I did. A judgement" he nodded again, and encouraged by a flip of the eyebrow from the Inquisitor continued. "I was going to see him, you see, to remonstrate. I was going to beg him to send those fallen women away!"

"The morale auxillia?"

Cringe spat on the ground and Quaestorious jumped nimbly to one side to avoid being spattered by the spittle. Cringe went on,

"Tempted the boys, they did. Evil. They inflame them and take their minds away from prayer and the pure love of their comrades. These young boys, they're easy prey for those monsters, pawing at their young limbs and making them old before their time with fornication and lasciviousness!"

He paused for breath and to blow away the froth that was forming at his lips. Quaestorious suppressed a shudder especially when the madman shot out his scrawny left hand and grasped the Inquisitor by the sleeve of his robe.

"My Lord, you must do something!" Cringe's eyes burned. Quaestorious shook off the hand, shaking with anger.

"How dare you touch me!" his voice was controlled, but the fury was apparent. Cringe drew back, cowed. "Now" he went on, his voice becoming even as he willed himself to concentrate only on the job "What can you tell me about this murder? Did you see anyone suspicious near Sollinius' room when you approached it?"

The confessor mumbled and scowled to himself, and Quaestorious realised that he was thinking out loud.

"Could be anyone….depraved, the lot of them.. Probably that debauched female – women like that are capable of anything, anything I tell you!" his voice raised to a screech.

"Very well, if you think of anything more, let me know." Quaestorious told him. He turned on his heel and left, nauseated by the mortificant. Praying for tolerance he fled - he had to admit it, he had turned tail in a most craven fashion – back to his room, shedding his outer robe at the door, stripping on his way to the bathroom to remove the crawling sensation from his skin.

oOoOo

Quaestorious showered thoroughly. He even, after due consideration, took advantage of some of Sollinius' expensively scented toiletries. He thought the Commissar would not object under the circumstances. He chose a completely clean set of garments and gave his dirtied ones and his robe to Burdock to take for cleaning.

"Dat'll take a whiles" Burdock was concerned. "You haven't got another over-robe wiv you. You can't go out like that just in ordinary shirt and trousis!" he was stern. Quaestorious grinned and pushed back the one unruly lock of hair that damply invaded his forehead.

"Ah, but Burdock, I'm going incognito" he took pity on the gigantic man's puzzled look and explained. "I want to talk to the women. If they know who I am, they'll be scared and I'll get but little from them. Although" he frowned "I'd rather interview that woman Cybele formally. But the rest may know secrets from pillow talk that will point a path to our killer which they'd gossip about to an ordinary man but feel too trivial to tell an Inquisitor. I shall put on overalls such as are worn by the stevedores who are unloading supplies from the very ship I came in. but to see Cybele…" he paused, smiling at Burdock's disapproving look. "Here, Burdock, find me a large, dark blanket. I shall improvise. But I really cannot wear my robe after that creature has been spitting and frothing on it and pawing at me with his filthy claws."

Burdock grinned.

"You sound like the Commissar, me Lud" he said. "Can you make a robe so quickly?"

Quaestorious nodded.

"Well enough to pass over dark clothing" he said. "It's not obligatory, you know – there's no uniform attached to the job. It's just that most people expect us to wear sombre robes. I try to oblige" he added facetiously.

oOoOo

Burdock went one better than finding a blanket, and presented Quaestorious with a cloak that had belonged to Sollinius. It was better quality than Quaestorious' robe; and as Sollinius had been a large man made a more than adequate substitute. Quaestorious was touched that Burdock should want him to use his dead senior's cloak, and said so, to Burdock's pleased embarrassment. He sallied forth in search of Cybele. Burdock suggested that at this hour she would be found in the gymnasium, practising the dances the men paid to watch; and Quaestorious determined to try here first. He elected to go round by the outside door, taking the long route past the chapel. The sounds of industry betrayed the repairs that were taking place, both on the roof and near the ground where several crumbling buttresses were being strengthened by steel rod and reinforced concrete, the best local material available. He nodded to the workmen he passed and looked in the gymnasium's transplas door.

He was in luck. In the gymnasium was a stunningly beautiful woman, dancing. She wore a filmy, scarlet dress that swirled as she moved, changing colour as it floated, an effect of different coloured warps and wefts. Quaestorious let himself softly in and watched in admiration at the skill and control of the dancer. Her dance included gymnastic moves, handsprings and back flips, requiring great strength as well as control and skill. That would explain why she required the dress for practice, not just a body suit; it could be risky if she performed those moves without knowing exactly where that luxuriant skirt was going to be. It seemed to be a dangerous occupation in any case, for as Quaestorious watched, the woman stopped and massaged her right shoulder as though it was stiff from a previous strain. It was then that she noticed Quaestorious and she tossed back her long, pale blonde hair and frowned angrily, her lovely face made ugly with sudden discontent lines, the red, bow shaped mouth hardened and straightened into a trap and the long fingernails like bloody talons.

"D'you think I give shows for free?" she demanded. "Get out of here – and pay tonight like everyone else!"

"I believe, madam, that you mistake my purpose" said the Inquisitor, coldly. He drew attention to his 'I' badge with the wave of a hand. Cybele paled slightly.

"My apologies, my Lord" she said quickly. "Some of the men can be impudent…I'm sure you understand." She flashed a winning smile at him, revealing her in her full beauty. And she was beautiful; her face was a perfect oval of peach-soft skin, framed by hair like spun gold that reached her hips. Her eyes were as blue as summer skies, and if the lips that framed the pearly teeth carried too much lipstick, it might even so be just a matter of opinion. Quaestorious was, however, unmoved. He had seen the discontent lines and had a sudden image of some unfortunate officer entrapped into marriage one day with this woman, having to face that discontent across the breakfast table every morning. Sometimes Quaestorious was given to such whimsy.

"Apology accepted" he told her. "I am only interested in discovering the truth about the murder of Commissar Sollinius. Anything you can tell me could be valuable. I am particularly interested in eliminating from my enquiries those who had quarrelled or disagreed with Sollinius."

The lovely face flushed delicately, and Cybele cast her eyes down. Quaestorious thought sardonically, do you expect me to believe the pose of maidenly modesty and confusion, my lady? But he said nothing. Cybele spoke.

"Of course, you'll have been told how he manhandled me. And there are those who would gloat. Many disapprove of my profession, my Lord, but the men need me and my women. I did not mean to cause any distress to the Commissar, but he chose to take offence" she lifted limpid blue pools to Quaestorious, and the Inquisitor understood why Sollinius had acted with what had seemed uncharacteristic harshness towards the woman. This woman was indeed truly dangerous – not perhaps in a sense that fell into his domain, but dangerous to men. She was one of those women for whom men would lie, steal or murder. Perhaps one of them had. Would the anger felt for an idol's humiliation drive a man to kill, even if his victim were one of his superior officers? Alas, history told that men would do much for the madness they called love. Quaestorious was thankful that he had been tempted by nothing worse than lust, easily deniable. Love was the most dangerous emotion of all – had not his mentor, Justinian, warned him to beware of getting too close to any one person, any one population lest he be forced to put them one day to the question, or call forth the terrible power of the Exterminatus? And any feeling for such a woman as this would be more akin to possession than love – for she wanted to control. He could see it in her eyes, feel it with his psyker senses.

"You would not pretend sorrow at his death, I presume" he asked her dryly. For a moment her eyes burned. Was it hatred? He found the brief flash of fire hard to read. Women were such strange creatures. She spoke through her teeth.

"Yes, I am glad he is dead. He made me look a fool. And he wasn't a proper sort of Commissar anyway."

"What do you mean?" he asked sharply. She tossed her long mane and it rippled in a pale golden sheen in the late afternoon sunshine.

"Most Commissars talk loudly about sin" she said "And so they need plenty of sin themselves in compensation." She smiled at the shocked look that flitted across Quaestorius' face. "Did you not know that, my Lord Inquisitor? Those that denounce the loudest partake the most. Take that creature Cringe – I bet if you ask the girls, they'd be able to tell you a thing or two."

"What do you know?"

"I KNOW nothing my Lord." The honourific fell short of being used as an insult; it was almost a challenge as she batted her long eyelashes at him. "I can only guess, really, and that's not proper evidence, is it?" she stepped closer to him, laying a hand on his chest. Quaestorious stepped adroitly back before she did more than brush his robe with her hand. People seemed determined to touch him today. Quaestorious disliked being touched. Especially by those trying to get something out of him. He turned and paced to prevent her trying again.

"I would be interested to hear your speculations" he said.

"Well… I've scarcely heard a thing…nothing specific. I'm sorry, my Lord" she was smiling quite fixedly, making an effort. Quaestorious grunted.

"Very well. If you hear anything that might help, let me know" he escaped into the corridor and wiped his face. It had, all in all been a very trying day so far, and he was looking forward to coffee in his room. He hoped Burdock would have some ready.

He need not have worried. Burdock had coffee steaming.

"What would I do without you, Burdock!" he smiled thinly. "Are you sure you're not a telepath, or something?"

"Sah?"

"You have an infallible sense for when I need coffee."

Burdock's face split into a hideous, happy grin.

"I keeps it brewin' all the time, Sah. When I hears you sighin' I pour a cup."

"Ah, I see. Elementary deduction, I see, Burdock. Or, I suppose" he murmured to himself "As it's catering to my nourishment that should be alimentary…"

"How's it goin', sah?" Burdock asked. Quaestorious sighed.

"Not that well. There are six main suspects to date – but one of them has just opened up a whole can of worms that could throw the whole number open to an unknown number."

"Sah?" Burdock showed an interest on his ugly face; and Quaestorious decided that to talk things through to the Ogryn might put things straight in his own mind – especially as he'd have to simplify.

"Well, there's the thefts. Anyone could be involved in them – but there's only a few people who could be benefiting big time. It seems difficult to think that the Colonel has no involvement, but he's scarcely struck me as being over endowed with the smarts. It seems to be a characteristic shared by those of his officers I've met so far too. Just think, Burdock, you could well be the most intelligent person here." He ended bitterly. Burdock grinned good naturedly at the Inquisitor's joke. Quaestorious continued. "The obvious suspect seems to be the supply Captain, Derval. He seems to be absolutely honest – but I'm suspicious of absolute honesty. Most people make errors even if they don't deliberately falsify accounts. Either Derval has an extraordinary head for figures despite his otherwise unremarkable brain or he's a very good liar. I can't rule out any other officer or sergeant either just yet, though if neither the Colonel nor Derval are involved, you'd have thought they'd catch out any one underling. The alternative is a conspiracy, which is worrying – but surely a conspiracy would not risk the high profile investigation that must accompany the murder of a Commissar."

"Dere's some stupid people out dere, me lud" volunteered Burdock.

"True Burdock. And I must not let myself be blinded into thinking that Sollinius' investigation into the thefts could be the only possible motive. He was also, you tell me, investigating something about that creature Cringe" – Quaestorious shuddered – "and I must say, I'd like to be able to count him as chief suspect. But a couple of things make me feel I should reject him…." He tailed off, then resumed, "I could hope Ffarquar was guilty, too, but fanatical idiot though he is, I think like you say he's too much a, er, stuffed shirt, to take matters into his own hands. I can't really rule out Anthony – I think he's unlikely, but he had come to idolise Sollinius. If Sollinius fell from the pedestal he had put him on..." Seeing Burdock's puzzled frown he explained, "If a man really admires someone, then finds out they are not so admirable really, their admiration can turn to hate. Anthony seems devoted – but he might be devoted to a memory only. And talking of devotion, there's Cybele. She resents Sollinius' public reproof of her – and the Emperor alone knows how many lovers and admirers she has who'd feel that killing him would please her. It did too" he added reflectively. "I suppose she could have killed him herself, though it seems a little excessive merely for humiliation" he shrugged. "You see my problem, Burdock."

Burdock nodded.

"Dat seem very difficult sah" he agreed. "'Course, you could always just hang Cringe for bein' a creep." He suggested.

"A nice idea – but not, I'm afraid, covered by the rules" smiled Quaestorious. Definitely he would ask Burdock to accompany him – the man had the ability to restore him to good humour. Well, now he would go and talk to the women. He'd have to put up with some teasing for turning down the odd 'business proposition' but at least he might get somewhere. And he might even find out who was Cybele's current conquest. The women always knew such things. Quaestorious sighed. He'd once asked one of the few female inquisitors if it were some kind of female specific psychic power but she had just laughed mysteriously and said something about different priorities and motives. Women were very strange creatures indeed! He leaned back in his chair, savouring the rich coffee, enjoying the sense of calm the picture of the Emperor gave him. He felt the wise, kind eyes on him, giving him the inner peace and strength he needed to do his duty. Ah, what vandalism to destroy works of art from such a talented hand! He must see if any of the men knew whether others had escaped. If only the Icon of Lysander might be treated with respect – maybe future guardsmen here would live to appreciate the - yes, the HEALING gifts this artist had had. To die young, what a tragedy. Any sensible commanding officer would have turned the lad over to painting as his sole duty, not risk the hands and life of one so blessed. But one could not change the past. One could only draw upon its lessons to mould the present and the future. Quaestorious genuflected to the Emperor, pulled on a stevedore's coverall and set off.

30


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N thanks to the anonymous reviewer; be not alarmed at the length, it is a short story of only 9 chapters and about 35k words not one of my usual epics in the categories where people like novel length stories_

**Chapter 4 **

Quaestorious was beginning to regret his incognito visit to the women – he was sure his hair had turned white! He had gone to their part of the compound armed with the largest box of sweetmeats he could find and the cover story that he had an hour or so to kill and would like to do it in the convivial company of lovely ladies, though he did not have time for any more, (Hem!) closer acquaintance. He had led the chat to idle gossip, throwing in remarks about some of his suspects. Captain Anthony seemed to be a prime favourite – all agreed that he made a girl feel like she was special. They knew little and cared less about his political reliability. As one put it,

"Politics is for pricks. You gotta live your life and jus' shurrup to bigwigs. Who cares if the Emperor lives or what? He don't care about us whores, so why should we care about Him?"

Quaestorious, shocked, had bitten back a lecture on the all encompassing benevolence of the Blessed Emperor. It would do later. Probably these women never had been given any proof of the Emperor's love – and if not, surely then they might not be alone! This was worse than the spreading of minor heresies, this was an abandonment of the people by the authorities – of whom he was one. It was clearly, felt Quaestorious, his duty to consider ways in which these poor ignorant – yes, HEATHEN was not to strong a word – could be helped. However, he must lay that aside while he continued his search for truth. If indeed it lay here amongst the tawdry finery and all too frequently rather grubby lace and gauze that these women seemed to find essential to their dubious allure. Already his head swam with cheap perfume, and he was glad that at least most of it would be filtered out by the coveralls and would not leave him stinking like this until his other change of clothes had been laundered. He tried to move quickly on to gossip about the other officers so he could get what he wanted and be away.

The women knew nothing of the Colonel, it seemed, save for the fact that he was known to interfere where not wanted.

"He even sticks his head into the kitchen sometimes" one said in disgust. "Bad enough having Captain Derval underfoot with his perishin' inventories."

"Derval frequents the kitchens more than the bedrooms, huh?" Quaestorious asked. "He seemed pretty boring."

There was laughter.

"Brother, you said it!" they agreed. Quaestorious found Derval going up in his estimation.

It appeared that neither Derval nor Ffarquar visited the women professionally, though Ffarquar did sometimes come and lecture and harangue. Quaestorious was glad that he had good self control, because some of the earthy comments were rather coarser than he was used to. When the women started on a very frank discussion of some of the other men and officers, Quaestorious felt certain that this was certainly embarrassment above and beyond the call of duty! He tried to ease himself in the instrument of torment mendaciously, or at least inaccurately, referred to as an 'easy' chair. The blasted thing was more like a bed, and he was seriously concerned lest it fold up with him trapped inside it!

The Inquisitor steered the conversation onto Cringe.

"That stinky little bugger?" you'll not see him around here – if we'd have him. We have SOME pride!" said the major spokeswoman. "He reckons we're all sinful. Tells the men to avert their eyes and to remove temptation with a knife if need be, of all things!" there was a burst of raucous laughter.

"Yeah, and you can guess that that goes down like a lead landspeeder! Mind, some of them kids are dead scared of them." She added thoughtfully. Quaestorious wanted to ask more; but the subject of Cringe seemed to make the women edgy, and they quickly changed the subject.

"I guess I'll have to go soon" he said, with seeming regret. "So, if I want to write to you all, who's in charge that I address it to? You?" he nodded to a voluptuous brunette who had been one of the more vocal members. She gave a jeering laugh.

"Nah, luv, not me – that's her high and mightiness, Cybele. Catch her sleeping with anyone but officers! She has as little to do with us as she can – save bossing us around! Mind, I'll accept responsibility for mail for the girls. You won't send any, of course, but the thought's appreciated" she grinned at him. "Gi's a bye-bye kiss, luv, anyhow. You're a bit better looking than the run-of-the-mill stevedores we get round here!"

Quaestorious was overwhelmed by sudden bosoms that performed an outflanking movement and pinned him down in rather excessive cover; but he did his duty and thought of the Emperor. After all, she seemed a pleasant and kindly enough woman. Her personal hygiene might leave something to be desired, might not be as scrupulous even as Burdock's (Dear Emperor, surely she wasn't involved in the cooking?) but she seemed generous and surely meant well.

Quaestorious felt rather frustrated by what he had learned – or rather what he had not. His ears burned at some of the irrelevant information that had come his way (Surely that was physically impossible? And where did they get the….never mind.). He had learned little to add to the sum total of his knowledge of his current suspects; and the women would surely have been likely to say if Cybele had a special lover, either to marvel at his stupidity or to say that they deserved each other. The voluptuous lady certainly did not like the chief camp follower – and it surely followed that she'd spill anything to her detriment!

oOoOo

Quaestorious took a turn about the Quadrangle on his way back to clear his head, passing the rest of the accommodation for the comfort women and other supernumeraries. He paused, suddenly, and listened. Yes, he was right – it had been a cry! Well, actually, he amended, more of a whimper. Decisively he strode towards the sound. It seemed to come from the bungalow set slightly apart from the bawdy block; and he had no hesitation in throwing open the door.

oOoOo

The room inside was cloying with perfume and over-decorated, predominantly in shades of red. Silky and gauze drapes in red, white and gold made the place look like a girl child's musical box grown to fantastical proportion, or the elaborate funeral parlours affected by some of the more vulgarly ostentatious of the wealthy near the core of the Imperium. Save that there the drapes would be black, white and gold to demonstrate an excess of spurious mourning. Overstuffed chairs and over-carved bureaux completed the image of a tasteless dollhouse run mad. All this red! It clashed horribly with the mane of tangled auburn hair of the room's sole occupant who was tied by her wrists to an overhead pipe or conduit, somewhere above the disguising drapes, her back a mess of raw welts. Quaestorious took her at first for a child, so tiny was she, but then noticed the beginnings of womanly curves as he started forward towards her. Whatever she might have done, unauthorised punishment like this was not permissible! He caught her by the arm to steady her, and activated the digi-laser in his ring. Gently he lowered the girl-woman to the floor. Her legs gave way and she crossed her skinny arms across her chest, and stared defiantly at him.

"If you try to take me, I'll bite your nuts off" she told him.

"My dear child, do you take me for a paedophile?" asked Quaestorious, his eyebrows elevated and his voice at its most supercilious. "I don't need to hurt children. Now, come! Tell me what this is all about!"

She peered suspiciously at him.

"SHE didn't send you then?" she asked, incredulous.

"No – whoever 'she' might be." He sat down beside her. "Tell me all about it."

The girl buried her face.

"My mother died some years ago" she said. "Now Cybele says I've to start work, pleasuring the soldiers. I don't want to, it scares me, and I don't feel ready anyway, even if I ever do. I'm a good cook, why shouldn't I just do that? So she beat me, and she said she might send me a – a lover to reason with me. Someone who likes hurting girls, she means!" she sobbed, suddenly.

"BEAT you? But this profession is not hereditary nor compulsory. She has no right!"

"Yeah, mister, that's what I said. But she's in charge, and that give her the right. She's the Chief of the Morale Boosting Female Auxilia. What she says goes."

"That" said Quaestorious "Has got to stop." His jaw was set. "Especially when it comes to maltreating and coercing children. Every child who is hurt unnecessarily pains the Undying Emperor and that is unforgivable."

"I bleed. That makes me a woman. I'm not a child any more." She shrugged, and winced.

"Nonsense!" he said.

"So? You define it then."

He thought a moment.

"When an adolescent knows exactly what they want to do with a member of the opposite sex and feels able to carry it through, they may then be considered sexually mature." He said.

"That sounds fair. Say, you go for really plummy talk, don't you? Like you was a nobleman before you were a stevedore."

"I have been many things." Quaestorious said. "And I number among my talents a little – only a little, mind! Healing skill. If you will permit me to touch your back, I can lessen the pain and heal some of the welts, but the scars will have to heal in their own time."

She stared at him, her big dark eyes scared in her pale face.

"Psyker?" she whispered. He shrugged deprecatingly, and nodded.

"Not a very good one. Not good enough to be a battlefield medic."

"Won't I get tainted by chaos? Or do people know about you?"

He laughed.

"I'm fully licensed and sanctioned. But you were right to ask" he reached out a hand and she made no resistance as he pushed his mind through his fingers, knitting the torn flesh and dispersing the swelling. "Emperor aid me, for your strength is my refuge and succour. Give me your divine power to heal this child" he prayed as the welts healed beneath his fingers. She sighed with relief.

"Put your shirt on" he said. "You're leaving here before that revolting woman comes back."

"It's kind of you, but I've nowhere to go really" she told him.. "She'll only fetch me back, and punish me for making her. She can do anything – the Colonel doesn't care. She even makes some of the girls do it free for some customers sometimes and they have to. This is a bad place, mister, what with her and the screams from the chapel."

He stared at her.

"I will know more of this." He said. "Know that I am ….working on the investigations into the murder of Commissar Sollinius. I have orders to do whatever is necessary. I am not without power. Now, what is your name, child?" he asked her sternly.

"YOU'RE with the Inquisitor?" she asked. "And you so nice?" She drew back in some fear.

"Do not judge by wild rumours, child" Quaestorious was put out. "And I asked your name."

"Killie." She said, a little mutinously.

"Killie? What sort of name is that?"

"It's short for Kiliana" she said, defiantly.

"Kiliana is a lovely name, child. Feminine and pretty." Quaestorious chided gently.

"So what's yours, then?" she retorted.

He paused.

"Quaestorious." It would do no harm telling the child. She needed reassurance. A refusal would alienate her. She would be easier to question if she felt relaxed. It was worth making the effort to be more open than was his wont.

Killie laughed.

"Quaestorious? How pompous! I'll call you Quae for short."

"You will not" declared Quaestorious grimly. 'Quae' indeed! "If you must needs use a nickname, then call me as my parents used to when I was young – Leo." He thought as he had not thought in years of the young Leonides Antillus, already used to hard work on the fishing fleets when the Inquisition team had come to take him for training, led by the man who had become his dear mentor and friend. How frightened he had been at first of the man in the mask – Justinian had always worn a mask to hide his cherubic, baby faced visage so inappropriate for the stern duty of Inquisitor!

Kiliana was testing the name.

"Leo. Why Leo?" she asked. "It's not a bit like Quaestorious."

"I changed my name. Leo was the boy's name. It means 'lion'. I always rather admired Lion El Johnson I suppose because we had similar names. I tried to be like him." He grinned boyishly at the memories. Kiliana looked at him approvingly.

"You ought to smile more often" she commented. "You don't look as old."

"You are a pert brat" huffed Quaestorious. How dare she question his expressions? She nodded.

"You gotta be – or you just say yes to HER all the time. Least if you talk back SHE hasn't won."

Quaestorious considered this. The child had a point. She had a lot of spirit – worth training for something. Did she have the serious outlook required for the Inquisition? Did he, at her age, for that matter! He would send someone to have her checked out for training in whatever field she shone. The Imperium could not afford to waste intelligence and spirit, even in a chit of a girl!

oOoOo

Quaestorious took the girl Kiliana to his temporary office. She stared about her, having obviously never been in the officers' quarters. Sollinius had enjoyed a certain amount of luxury, one thing about the man of which Quaestorious did not approve. She stopped before the painting of the Emperor, and her face softened.

"Is this your room?" Kiliana asked, awed.

"Only temporarily" he explained with a thin smile. "This is the set of rooms the Commissar used. He favours a more …excessive… style of decoration than I, but it helps to get under his skin. "

"Uugh, your Inquisitor makes you sleep in a room where a murder was?" she pulled a face.

"Child, I am here of my own choice. I get but few psychic echoes, but perhaps it is enough….besides, I do not sleep here. I use the Commissar's bedroom through there" he waved a hand, and the girl started off curiously. "Sit down!" he said testily. "You can poke around later – maybe you'll see something I've missed – but now I want to talk to you about important clues I think you hold."

She sat down obediently, one heel up on the chair seat beside her and her hands clasped around the bent knee.

"That's why you brought me away" she said. "Because I can help your investigation. I hope you'll let Cybele know I'm supposed to be here."

"It is none of that woman's business" he said severely. "And under the circumstances I would have removed you in any case and found a safe place for you to stay. As I still need to." He added.

"I guess if you can work in a dead man's room I can sleep here if you're in another room." She suggested. "Even an angry ghost's gotta be better than Cybele."

His face darkened.

"Jest not about the supernatural" he told her. "Much that is attributed to it is but superstition; but there is much that is unexplained. Besides, it would scarcely be proper."

"Proper? Who cares what is proper for a strumpet's child? And don't you think men have not already offered to pay for my body? That's what part of the trouble was over. I fought one off and kicked him hard in the parts. He complained to Cybele."

"Could he not see your youth?" wondered Quaestorious. "And did he not heed your protests? This too must be looked into – but first, tell me why Cybele forces women to give their favours free to some men."

Kiliana frowned thoughtfully.

"Nobody knows for sure" she said, meditatively "But it's to some of the officers and sergeants only. The boring ones too, the ones that do more duty with a clipboard than a rifle. I guess Cybele's getting little requisitions put through just for her – luxuries and sweeties and pretty cloth like she wears and nobody else sees. Expensive perfume – the amount she wears couldn't come just from admirers I bet!"

Quaestorious nodded.

"Very interesting." He said. She giggled.

"Why do you pretend to be pompous, Leo?" She asked. "I don't think you're anything like as deadly serious as you like to pretend."

"My dear child, if I have a weakness for levity, I should strive and endeavour to eradicate it. To work as I do in such serious business requires a serious mind set."

She snorted.

"Surely if being attached to an Inquisitor is so serious you need a sense of humour to keep a sense of proportion? After all, there'll always be people trying to make you miserable!"

The child had something of a point, of course…he smiled kindly.

"Ah, Kiliana, if it were only as easy as that!" he sighed, tempering it with a sad smile. "You speak of this being a terrible place, but you have – can have – no idea of how terrible some people can be. And praise the Emperor for your own sake that you do not, that you can be angry at injustice instead of taking it dully as your lot. You have enough to eat and clothes to wear and little likelihood of dying violently. And there are, believe me child, far worse things than death in this universe."

She asked,

"Is it so bad for other children?"

He nodded.

"In some places there is no such thing as a child. Only beings who live – and those who do not. They lose their childhood early and know nothing but hardship and suffering" visions of hive undersumps with their feral children filled his mind; thoughts of orphans of terrible battles living in blackened, cratered landscapes where no crops would grow for years – or decades – children starving as the price of their freedom. He saw by Kiliana's face that he was projecting at least some of his visions. It was the trouble with psyker powers if other people had even the least sensitivity, you had to be careful to keep your thoughts to yourself.

Her eyes swam with tears.

"I am sorry. I can see why my selfishness would upset you if you have seen such things. But can't something be done?" She put out an imploring hand to his arm.

"It is my job to do all I can" he said, gently removing her fingers. "But I am only one man. Not enough people care enough – or are prepared, or even able, to give the commitment."

"I would."

"Yes, Kiliana, I believe you – and people will come who will talk to you, and teach you how to help best. And you can help me too by answering all my questions – and commenting on things. You have, I suspect, a shrewd mind and an observant one. No-one else has told me of the free gifts forced from the women. And I have not heard before of the screams in the chapel. So tell me about it."

Kiliana shuddered.

"It's more groans really, and some cries. I think it might be something to do with that creepy creature, Confessor Cringe. The soldiers don't like him, you know, and they're scared of him." Quaestorious nodded; he'd been hearing this before. She went on, "I think he makes the soldiers swear silence like Cybele does when she punishes the girls."

"Emperor's tears, is that filthy creature a damned flagellant?" cried Quaestorious. The girl shrugged her thin shoulders.

"He's bad. Some people just are" she said, matter-of-factly.

Quaestorious paced up and down, scowling.

"I can make a few guesses about Eliezer Cringe" he said "But I need to ask some questions. It's too late now – the men will be at supper. Senseless to disturb them now. You'll have missed supper by now, I suppose, girl?"

She shrugged.

"I think I was to forfeit it anyway." She said, trying to sound indifferent.

"I'll ask Burdock to get you something. Do you know Burdock?"

"The Ogryn? Yes, he's a sweetie. He stopped one of the men hassling me the other week. I like him."

Quaestorious nodded. He left Kiliana to poke about while he went in search of first Burdock and secondly a spare room for Kiliana. She might be a material witness against an act of perfidy and as such her life could be at risk if she were not sequestered somewhere safe!

39


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Quaestorious was awakened rudely by a loud hammering on the door. He was out of bed with feline grace and behind the door with a laspistol readied in a trice; and called out,

"Who is it? What is happening?"

"My Lord – It is I." The voice was Captain Anthony's. "There has been another murder. A soldier. Can you come, please?"

"On my way."

Quaestorious hastily flung on his makeshift robe to cover his nakedness, marvelling at the softness of the fabric on his skin, heavy though it was. Sandals sufficed; and he was leaving the room almost before Anthony had finished speaking, still doing up his utility belt. The young Captain blinked, but stayed silent at the speed of the Inquisitor's appearance.

"This way, my Lord." He said respectfully. Quaestorious pulled a wry face to himself inside the privacy of his hood. It seemed as though the young officer was preparing to transfer his hero worship from Sollinius to himself.

oOoOo

The body lay between the parade ground and the chapel, and smelled of the bodily wastes he had voided on death. In the lights that were being brought – Anthony had that much initiative at least, Quaestorious reflected – it was apparent what had killed the man. Below the blackened, protruding tongue the neck displayed its purple and red bruises and the neck lay at an unnatural angle. The soldier had been very young. Quaestorious' face hardened and his eyes flashed steel coloured fire.

"Do you know who this boy is?" he asked Anthony. The Captain nodded.

"New intake – hadn't been here above a month. His name is – was – Jed Herrow. He was a good lad, full of enthusiasm. Had been down, depressed over something, the last few days" he cleared his throat. Quaestorious nodded to him. Strange how often soldiers, no strangers to violent death on the battlefield, became quite emotional over more restrained, yet more cold blooded killings.

"Look to his comrades, Anthony" the Inquisitor's voice was harsh. "They will be seeking your guidance. Ask two of them to form a stretcher party and carry the body to the Infirmary. The Infirmarian and I will perform an autopsy."

"Yes sir." Anthony acquiesced. "But why do you need an autopsy, my Lord? We can see what killed him."

Quaestorious was inclined to be patient. The young man seemed genuinely interested.

"There is a fact I wish to confirm as to WHY he was killed." He said "And also he may have scratched his killer and caught some skin under his nails. This kind of thing I checked also on Sollinius' body, but too many people had tramped through the death scene for it to have much value – and no one had come close enough to the Commissar for him to have acquired any evidence of HIS killer that way. This is different."

"I see, my Lord. Thank you. The men will want to know if disturbing his body is truly necessary, you see."

"Tell them that young Jed should sing his killer's name loud and clear. I will not disturb the body more than is necessary."

Quaestorious laid a clumsy hand of condolence on the young Captain's shoulder, and watched as the body was carried into the hospital block. He roused the Infirmarian himself to the shock of that worthy and elderly individual; but Quaestorious soon had the man at his ease as he explained the urgency of collecting evidence as quickly as possible.

oOoOo

The Inquisitor was glad of a well equipped infirmary with a well-lit surgical table. Indeed, it had come as a surprise in this grim, grimy place to find something so clean and well appointed. He had knocked up the Infirmarian with little hope of finding him any real aid, and had been surprised by the prompt and cheerful response he had received once the initial shock was over, and had been amused and warmed by the way the old man's little wife had insisted that her spouse wear a scarf against the night chills. The Infirmarian admitted to being no more than adequate, but was willing to help out in any way he could. As his wife also dressed and plied the men with some hot, unidentifiable but deliciously sweet beverage, Quaestorious felt more hopeful than he had since his arrival. Though of course, he could not forget that this was a death that should not have happened. If only he had not delayed!

The Inquisitor recorded the proceedings on his dataslab.

"Deceased is a male human of probably less than twenty years, well grown and with good muscular development, well nourished and no obvious scars." He spoke in an even tone. "Bruising on the neck and signs of suffocation indicate death by strangulation as yet to be determined as manual or by ligature. Bruise patterns suggest manual – there appear to be finger marks." He measured the distance between the darker areas of the bruising and the distance across each and recorded the results. He continued,

"Deceased lost control of bladder and bowels immediately prior to death, not uncommon in strangulation, and also displays asphyxial false priapism. I intend to clean the area around deceased's nether regions….ah, as I thought." He pointed out his findings to the Infirmarian, who looked shocked.

"The only things to do now" Quaestorious told him "Are to take finger nail scrapings, and open the throat to check the hyoid bone. If it is broken it is proof positive of manual strangulation and the marks on his neck can then be definitely said to be finger marks."

"What else could they be?" wondered the Infirmarian. Quaestorious gave a short, mirthless laugh.

"You'd be surprised. I've seen a scarf with ball bearings tied in it to give a false set of bruises to disguise the size of the criminal's hand" he said. "The universe is full of ingenuity, mostly bent towards evil."

oOoOo

After confirming the evidence of the hyoid bone, which was broken as he had expected, Quaestorious turned his attention to the scrapings from private Herrow's nails. There was certainly material that appeared to be skin, with a fair mixture of dirt and one dead flea. Also a fine thread ravelled from a thicker one in a coarse, dark material. Quaestorious permitted himself a smile of satisfaction; and went to see the still wakeful soldiers who had been Herrow's comrades. Questioning brought forth the whole, shameful business; and Quaestorious promised to settle it on the morrow at first watch. He walked back through the crisp night air, and called in at the chapel to pray for Jed Herrow's soul. In the darkness there was a soft melancholy air, he felt, as though the ancient building regretted its recent ill usage but was ready to pass on, the brief span of an human lifespan as nothing to the hundreds of years it had already seen. Stars shone through the still open roof, and Quaestorious marvelled as he always did that each one held worlds teeming with life, people going about the Emperor's business day by day. He had loved to look at the stars in his boyhood when fishing at night. Indeed it had been essential to know them all intimately, to use them to find his way home. How long it had taken the ignorant Leo to grasp the concept that on each world, the constellations must perforce be different! Only Justinian's patient teaching, the models the old man had made and shown him from different angles had finally convinced the stubborn fisherboy. He had been glad of Justinian's tuition when he reached the academy, glad of the groundwork that kept him from looking a fool in front of those from more sophisticated backgrounds. Aye, and he had fought a few of them too for bullying a lad from an even more backwater world than his. Yet they had shaken down well together, and those of them who had passed had sworn oaths to keep in touch when they were sent out to be apprentices of experienced Inquisitors. They had not done so of course; none had the time. And as the years passed, so one turned more in on oneself and forgot youthful folly and comradeship. It was the way. Yet memories were good, and helped to keep alive the humanity within, to prevent one from becoming a law-dispensing automaton. Quaestorious thanked the Emperor for his mercy and grace, for his love and for his all-encompassing peace; and returned to bed, to fall dreamlessly asleep.

oOoOo

Quaestorious' first coffee of the day – brought by a Burdock sullen from having been left out of the nocturnal adventure – was interrupted. Killie burst in like a whirlwind and fixed Quaestorious with a fulminating glare.

"You lied to me – my Lord." she growled.

Quaestorious put down his coffee cup.

"No, my child, I merely failed to tell you all the truth, and thus misdirected you" he said, mildly. "Go and get yourself ready. What you told me led to solving one of the mysteries around here; though had I acted sooner I might have averted another death" he sighed.

Kiliana bit her lip.

"DAMN you, how can I be angry with you when you're sad?" she growled.

"Try saving it up for another time. I'm sure you can manage" Quaestorious suggested sardonically. She gave him a look.

"I suppose I gotta scrape and bow now I know you're the Inquisitor, my Lord" she said.

"In public, child, it would be politic. But what you call me is of less importance than what you do and why. You have a good heart. Preserve your compassion at all costs more than your proper modes of address."

"You are pompous. Why – how – could you have averted another death?"

"I had all the clues at my disposal last night. I wanted a witness account to complete the record for total conviction. I decided to wait until the morning. I presume a boy decided to come to me with his testimony last night – and was killed to prevent him giving it. I must live with my hubris."

"What's a hubris?" Kiliana muttered behind her hand to Burdock.

"Dunno, miss. Maybe it's got som'p'n ter do wiv underwear."

Quaestorious frowned at both of them.

"Don't mutter" he said irritably. "Now, let us unmask a villain."

oOoOo

The men had been assembled in the Quadrangle of the Parade Ground. It was drizzling gently and miserable; but it suited Quaestorious' mood. His feeling of well being in the chapel dissipated as he thought of the unpleasant task that he had to perform. Scared, expectant faces looked up at him in the pale dawn light that struggled to illuminate the wet morning. They all knew about the killing. It was his duty to satisfy them that all that was humanly possible had been done to avenge the boy's death – even if it had not been prevented. He bowed his head solemnly and offered a silent prayer for tolerance and forgiveness for the monster he would indict today.

"Last night" he said, addressing the crowd "A boy was killed, one Jed Herrow. He died because he had the courage to reveal his shame. He was coming to tell me what he knew. On the way he met his tormentor and perhaps he told him what he was doing; or perhaps the guilty one guessed. I cannot know that. However, the killer did forget one thing" he paused for dramatic effect. "I am an Inquisitor, and I can make even the dead speak to me!"

There was a ripple of superstitious awe around the ground; beside him Kiliana gave a sceptical and disapproving sniff then yelped as Burdock cuffed her gently but firmly round the ears. Quaestorious resumed.

"Jed Herrow told me of his torments, like those many of you have been through, he told me that his killer had long hands but narrow even scrawny fingers. He told me that he dresses in a faded black cloak and that he is dirty and covered in fleas!" he paused again, then flung out an arm. "Eliezer Cringe, it is YOU who have sodomised young men and made them swear secrecy, shaming them into believing that it is their sins you punish! It is YOU who have killed this young man in the flower of his youth to prevent him talking – but you could not stop him talking to me!"

Eliezer Cringe gave a whinney of fear.

"He's very good" Kiliana remarked admiringly to Burdock, as an aside,

"Yeah, he is dat" the big man agreed, proudly.

Cringe collapsed, moaning and shrieking, wringing his hands.

"They were wicked!" he screamed. "Tempting honest folk with their young lithe limbs! The devils had to be forced out of them, don't you see? I never meant to kill him, he just stood there and boasted he would lay bear his own wickedness before you! I had no choice! No choice! What else could I do?" he reached up fawningly at Quaestorious. The Inquisitor looked down at him with a look of disgust, yet not untinged with pity.

"Your own devils will torment you no longer, Eliezer" he said. "For you will be executed straight away, and the Emperor shall pass his merciful judgement upon you" he nodded to the firing squad arranged already by Captain Anthony. "See to it." he said. "And by the warp, burn the body!"

oOoOo

As Quaestorious turned on his heel to walk away, Colonel Strong approached, rubbing his hands with satisfaction.

"Splendid job, quite splendid!" he enthused.

"No. it was adequate. No more. The boy should not have died. Mea maxima culpa."

Strong waved a hand airily.

"Soldiers die. What's one more or less? Especially if he helped by giving you the clues by dying. I'm just so glad this business is over – I'm sure you'll be glad to be on your way."

Quaestorious' eyes had been flashing dangerously as Strong spoke dismissively of the young recruit and now he smiled unpleasantly.

"Aren't you being a trifle premature in trying to be rid of me Colonel?" he purred silkily. The Colonel stared open mouthed and his fear was a smell on the air.

"Wh-what do you mean, my Lord?" he stammered. "Surely – surely you've found the culprit!"

"I have found _**A**_ culprit." Said Quaestorious. He had raised his voice slightly and it carried across the parade ground in the cold morning air. "A culprit who has been abusing your men and murdered one of them. He was a suspect, it is true, but this investigation was incidental to the main one. Oh, and by the by Colonel" – Strong blenched as he dropped his voice again – "I should like to bring to your attention that the Whore Cybele treats her women extremely badly, way outside regulations and guidelines. The profession is, after all, supposed to be voluntary – and the wages to go to the women involved. You may appoint a reliable officer's wife to look into the matter in more detail when I've finished here."

"Y-yes, my Lord." Colonel Strong stammered. "Have – have you any idea how much longer your investigations are going to take?"

"They will take as long as necessary. Naturally I do not wish to delay my transport longer than I need to, but I WILL get to the bottom of this. You should know that this is closely tied in with the systematic supply thefts that have been occurring lately."

"Supply thefts? Are you sure? I know nothing of this."

"Ah?"

"Whom do you suspect?" The Colonel looked worried. Quaestorious grinned wolfishly.

"All of you." He replied.. he had no intention of letting this insignificant little jackanapes make him lose his temper. Really, the man had no idea how close he, Quaestorious, had come several time already to striking him!

oOoOo

Quaestorious exploded at Burdock and Kiliana as soon as he was back with them in the privacy of Sollinius' rooms.

"How can a man in Strong's position not know about the supply thefts? He MUST know something about it! And yet he seemed totally surprised by the revelations about Cringe too! Is he a crook, totally callous or just as thick as latrine juice?" The Inquisitor threw himself into the leather padded chair behind the desk and gratefully accepted a steaming mug from Burdock.

"He don't care much about de men" volunteered Burdock "But it di'n't show much wiv the Commissar. He was onto that Cringe, you betcha sah!" he nodded several times to emphasise his words. Killie watched in horrified fascination as dandruff cascaded down with each nod. Quaestorious sighed.

"I believe it, Burdock. But he has to remain one of my chief suspects. I dare not rule out Anthony either – the more because I find him a pleasant young man. As I said, if Sollinius had been his fallen idol he might have reacted furiously – though the attempt to implicate you seems right out of character. Unless he thought the frame was so ridiculous no one would take it seriously. I'm still convinced that Derval looks too good to be true – honest, doesn't go with whores, and I guess someone'll be telling me next he drinks moderately and always attends chapel" he added sourly.

"He don't drink" Burdock put in "But he don't go to chapel much eiver. He uses dem times to count blankets and toilet rolls when mos' people is in de chapel."

"Emperor's balls!" swore Quaestorious explosively, making Burdock blink with shock at such a dangerous oath. "That is one strange man! Has he no vices? Then there's Ffarquar – so eaten up by watching other people's vices that he's turned it into a vice of his own. I bet he cuts pictures out of dirty books and pastes then inside his cupboard door to remind him not to look at them!"

"Shall I go look?" asked Burdock. The Inquisitor shook his head hastily, and the uncontrollable lock of hair fell forward across his eyebrow. Impatiently he pushed it back.

"No, I'm just guessing. It's not germane to the subject. I don't think he had anything to do with it – and yet a fanatic will go to fantastic lengths. Then there's Cybele."

"She's a woman" objected Killie. "Much as I hate her, how would she have the strength? Everyone says he was bashed on the bonce and he were big and strong."

"Yes, he was, er, bashed on the head, while he was sitting, probably by someone he did not consider a threat until it was too late." Quaestorious explained. "And I've seen Cybele working out in the gym. Her arms are very strong indeed. I can't rule her out – especially since something you said, Kiliana, has given me the germ of an idea. But I need more proof before I can accuse any one of them. Personal dislike is not enough. I need to find both the missing boxing glove, and the dataslab. Then I will perhaps be a little further forward. However, I do not intend to start the day on an empty stomach. We shall break our fast with the second group – I have ordered food to be brought here. Then we shall organise a massive search for anything out of place, both inside and out."

"How come you can be so totally nasty to the Colonel but you're nice to me an' Burdock?" asked Kiliana.

"Perhaps" answered Quaestorious "Because you and he have pure and uncluttered souls – and so you treat me as a fellow human being and I can do likewise in return. But call me not nice, child, for my calling is anything but. Do you have any idea what mission I interrupted to come here at your Colonel's request?"

She shook her head. He told her.

"I am on my way to try, question and execute seventeen heretics who formed part of an uprising who were captured by Space Marines." He explained. "I shall doubtless have to put some if not all of them to the question – that's torture – and then I shall have them all killed. It is better to kill a hundred of those only slightly tainted with chaos, even if they may repent, than let one slip through your fingers and pollute mankind."

She stared at him, her eyes wide. He continued,

"To protect the greater good sometimes requires acts of extreme viciousness. We Inquisitors are expected to know WHEN extremes are necessary. To judge wrongly – either on the side of leniency or harshness – puts not only our own immortal soul in danger, but rocks the very foundation of the Inquisition itself – and thus the Imperium too. Know then that an Inquisitor MUST be able to be harsh. Also merciful. But never, never nice."

48


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Breakfast, when it arrived, consisted of thick, grey porridge of unappetising aspect accompanied by thick steaks of whatever the local meat animal was fried under eggs. Chickens at least were fairly adaptable, and there were few places they could not be reared. Kiliana and Burdock began at once on the fried dish, pushing the porridge back. Quaestorious pulled a face, but he knew that the meal was nourishing and reached for a spoon.

"It'll be awful if I've not been there to cook it" warned Kiliana. "I'm the only one who can cook porridge properly, the way mother taught me. This is Seela's effort and it tastes as much like a chaos infestation as it looks."

"Yeah, me lud, dat look like the Commissar's brains oozin' out" put in Burdock with distaste.

"DO you two mind?" the Inquisitor snapped. He scowled at both of them and began to eat. He was feeling uneasy in any case; he knew that the news that he did not regard Eliezer Cringe as the murderer of Sollinius would be all around the compound by now. Someone would want to stop his investigations.

oOoOo

It only took a few spoonfuls for Quaestorious to realise that the bitterness he could taste owed less to bad cooking than to unauthorised ingredients. He fumbled in his utility belt for the rapid emetic he always carried and stumbled – dear Emperor, the stuff was strong, it was taking effect already – into the bathroom, swallowing desperately the Flux Vomica. Soon he was heaving up the little he had ingested, getting rid of the poison in his stomach. Spots danced before his eyes and he gasped for breath as the awful stuff poured from his nose and throat, threatening to drown him. At last it was over and shakily he was able to rinse his mouth at the tap. The room still spun horribly but Quaestorious forced himself to stay upright. His limbs were numb; and standing felt like standing on feet made of rubber; they seemed to want to bend underneath him. After what seemed to be hours he had his limbs – the grosser movements at least – more or less under control. Quaestorious permitted himself to give vent to a few choice oaths of the type that would have some zealots howling for his execution and made his painful way back into the main room.

Kiliana was surveying him with round eyes, too shocked to move. Was it not hours since he had knelt in front of the receptacle? Evidently not..

"I know I said it was bad, but I never realised it was that bad!" she whispered, frightened by the ghastly pallor of the Inquisitor's skin.

"Aside from the cooking, I've been poisoned." Quaestorious' voice was between a whisper and a croak. There was stunned silence, interrupted only by the rhythmic grinding of Burdock's jaw as he continued to chew on his breakfast. Kiliana reacted first.

"What must we do?" she asked.

"Burdock, get me to the bed. I need to lie down. No, scupper that. Help me walk up and down, to disperse this stuff and force it through my system. Kiliana, run to the Infirmarian and ask him for some Red Trycho. Don't let him fob you off by telling you that it's poison, I know damned well it's a poison. But in small quantities it counteracts this blasted vermin poison I've been given."

Kiliana ran off, and soon returned panting. Burdock was holding the Inquisitor up bodily while he forced himself to walk up and down the room. He pointed weakly to the chair and the Ogryn deposited him gently in it.

"Are you sure what you've been given?" she asked. "The Infirmarian was concerned lest you'd misdiagnosed."

"I know what I've damn well been poisoned with!" Quaestorious snapped testily. "I've learned to recognise the effects of various drugs as part of my training. I'm a specialist in pathology and forensics. Now give me three drops of that in a glass of water."

Kiliana did as she was told; the Inquisitor looked terrible. His face was grey, and he shook uncontrollably. His breathing came in short, rattling gasps that seemed to do little good. She held the glass for him and helped him drink while Burdock hovered making unhappy, helpless noises. Gently she smoothed the wayward lock of hair from his sweating brow and he glowered at her.

"Don't you dare play mother to me you repellent brat!" he groused, and Killie grinned. That was more like normal. It seemed to her that the shaking was reduced, though Quaestorious' face was still a pale grey colour. His breathing seemed less ragged too, and he was taking deep normal breaths.

"What more do we do?" she asked. "Are you likely to lose consciousness or anything? Are you going to live?"

He managed a weak laugh.

"No, I'm not going to die now" he said. "I'd probably survived without the antidote, but this will get me back to normal as quickly as possible. Without it I'd have been helpless for days" he pulled a face. "But I'll not be able to get on as I'd hoped. I do need some bed rest now; you two are going to have to do my work for me and report everything back. Burdock, arrange some guards for my room with instructions to let nobody but the pair of you in and out. Perhaps some of private Herrow's friends would oblige. I think they are kindly disposed towards me."

"Awright me lud!" agreed Burdock.

"When you've done that, I want you to go with Kiliana. Kiliana, you tell me you're a good cook. You go to the kitchens, ostensibly to get cooking equipment and food to prepare in here. Actually I'd like you to find out which of our suspects could have been in there to poison the porridge. You might want to exaggerate my condition too – say I'm probably dying but I've told you to get the stuff anyway. And before you go, pass me all the porridge and my chemicals bag – the red one over there" he pointed and Killie fetched it across to the desk. "I'll set up the tests and then go to lie down. Remember to find out too" he called as she started to leave "Who could have had access on the day Sollinius was killed. Burdock was drugged, remember!"

oOoOo

Kiliana left, muttering a little about the expectations of a crusty old Curmudgeon; but in truth she was excited at the chance to help with the investigations as well as glad to do something to help Quaestorious. He had rescued her – even if only temporarily – from an unpleasant situation, and had healed her back. She owed him. Besides, she had started to like the Inquisitor, irritable though he seemed often to be. The burdens he carried must be enough to make anybody irritable! Somewhere under that crusty exterior, Killie was convinced there was a lonely man. His compassion for her, his sorrow over a boy he had never met, his obvious pain that he could not help all the children who needed it gave her a new insight onto the Inquisition. And the way he often glanced at that painting of the Emperor – it must be splendid to have a relationship like that with your deity. Perhaps there was more to the Undying Emperor than she had realised. Perhaps Quaestorious would teach her about him. If he could manage to impart information between pomposity attacks.

Burdock soon found some volunteers to guard the Inquisitor. As Quaestorious had surmised they were glad of a chance to do something for him after he had rid them of the torments of Cringe. Burdock made sure to capitalise on the fact that it was not the purpose Quaestorious had been there and that a lesser man might just have mentioned the situation in passing to the Colonel rather than taking matters into his own hands. The young soldiers were eager to do what they could and readily patrolled the corridor outside the Inquisitor's room.

oOoOo

The kitchen block stood separate from the mess halls to prevent the influx of stale cooking smells into the eating areas; food was transported on insulated grav carts. The kitchen itself was an ugly plascrete blockhouse. Kiliana had always felt a certain irony at its plain utilitarian appearance next to the gothic adornment of the chapel close by, built in traditional stone and slate. Not that the gargoyles grinning evilly from the eaves were exactly beautiful – Killie had privately named them after her least favourite men and officers – but the whole structure had a kind of overall dignified grace. Its mellow brown-grey walls held a feeling of peace and age that transcended the dreadful incumbency of Eliezer Cringe. Kiliana had a strong urge to go inside; and dragged Burdock with her. Quaestorious' strong faith and belief in the Emperor was so tangible and she wanted to pray for perhaps the first time in her life since she was a small child. She looked around at the bright paintings on the inside of the chapel, seeing them as if anew. The reds and blues and greens shone like jewels, for these paintings were renewed regularly by the ecclesiastics. Delicate traceries of stone were still discernible, though worn and crumbled by age, for the stone was not of the best sort for building. Killie did not know that; she just took it as another sign of the antiquity and continuity of the Imperium. She studied the great painting over the altar with a critical eye, and found it less pleasing than the small icon in Quaestorious' room, though in truth it was as good as any to be found in such a small, out of the way chapel. In common with much ecclesiastical painting, it employed a lot of gold paint to hide the inadequacies of draughtsmanship; but there was a verve to the line though it was untutored and rough, an enthusiasm for the painting of it as an act of worship in itself. Killie somehow instinctively knew this; and she found it easier to address the painting than some nebulous Emperor somewhere in the Warp. The watery sunlight that was now struggling through the clouds came through the open roof. And shone onto the painting, sending radiances shooting from the gold. Kiliana knelt in one of the pews about half way back..

"Look here, Emperor" she began, "You'd better look out for Quaestorious. He's pretty fond of You so I guess You need to make sure he's gonna be alright. Er, thank You" she bowed her head, then rose. She exclaimed suddenly as something pricked her knee. She looked down, and pulled out a shard of clear plastic, a bright drop of her blood on it.

"Well, that shouldn't be here!" She exclaimed indignantly, and slipped the shard in her pocket to dispose of later. There were a number of other shards there too when she checked, but mostly small or powdered. She pushed them into a crack between the flags to make it safe, and continued on her mission, irritable that someone should have been so careless as to have broken something and not cleared it up.

oOoOo

The first person with whom Killie came face to face in the kitchen was Cybele, chivvying the other women in the clearing and washing up although not in any way bestirring her own elegant person to help. When she saw Killie she raised her hand to give the girl a backhanded swipe – only to have her wrist caught and borne downwards by Burdock's enormous hand.

"The Inquisitor don't like uvver people hittin' his servants" the big man said gently.

"Servants? So, when the prize is big enough, you'll open your legs alright!" sneered Cybele, rubbing her wrist as Burdock released her. "Don't you forget my cut and I might just forgive you for running off yesterday!"

Kiliana flushed scarlet.

"I do not serve in that capacity" she said, tight lipped. "The Inquisitor says he's no paedophile to lay with children. I run errands for him – and from now on I shall be cooking for him in his room. It's why I'm here. Someone poisoned him, and he's real bad – maybe dying!"

Cybele sniffed.

"Well, whether he dies or just leaves, you'd better not think about putting on airs and graces after. That overgrown lump of ugliness there" she indicated Burdock with a nod of the head "will be reassigned and he won't be around to help YOU anymore" she glared at Burdock. He grinned.

"You ever lay Ogryns?" he asked.

"Certainly not!" she snapped. He grinned wider.

"Jus' git off my little buddy's back, or I c'd change that" he suggested with an evil looking leer. Cybele gasped, and flounced off.

Kiliana busied herself with collecting up cooking utensils for small scale cooking, and sent Burdock ferreting for a small stove. She spoke to the voluptuous woman Quaestorious had met before.

"I thought you'd like to know, Seela, that the Inquisitor doesn't blame you in the slightest for the poisoned porridge. He knows someone added it to his tray when it stood waiting. Say, have you any idea who it could be?"

Seela shook her head. She had gone white when she had heard about the poisoning, certain that she would be blamed and convinced that she would be taken away and tortured.

"I found a tub of Vermin Killer right beside the cook pot." She whispered. "I supposed it had been put down there by accident, so I put it away – but suppose someone wanted me to be blamed? What was it poisoned him? Could it be mistaken for Vermin Killer?"

Killie hugged the frightened woman.

"I think you've just cleared yourself for sure." She said. "Yes, it was…similar…but you'd not have said that if you were at fault would you – you'd have tried to conceal it. Don't worry – it will all be sorted out. But think! Who was in here during the preparations apart from the girls?"

Seela shook her head.

"I can't think…the colonel doesn't count, of course…"

"Everybody counts."

"I don't think it was this morning he looked in anyway…no it was yesterday. That blasted supply Captain of course…" she glanced over her shoulder to check he was not about "…you know he's forever sticking his nose in asking how much of what you're using, same as if it was his own stuff….and there's the kitchen detail. Oh that's been fun today, not!"

"What do you mean?" Killie was curious.

"Well you know what it's like when blue watch have KP. Most officers leave us and the men be – but that Captain Ffarquar, he has to be in here all the bleeding time going on about our morals. I'm surprised he doesn't curdle all the food."

"I suppose he's been in here most days – Cybele's had me cooking for her and waiting hand and foot on her in that ghastly bungalow of hers for the last few days, trying to get me to go along with her plans for me, and expecting me to know exactly when she'll be back from supervising here to have her fancy slimmobrek stuff warmed just so!. I've not been in the kitchens for a while, have I, now?"

"That's right, dearie, I was forgetting. Don't you let her make you do anything you don't want to. You're too young for starters, and you're pretty enough to marry a nice officer, not be stuck with selling your looks 'til they go and then scrubbing floors for the rest of your life!" Seela hugged the girl. "Well, you've not missed much for not seeing Captain high-and-mighty Ffarquar. And if it's not him, it's a clipboard up your nose from Mr Interference" she sighed heavily.

"So both Derval and Ffarquar were here this morning – were they here the day the Commissar was killed?" Killie asked.

"Oh, goodness, dearie, I don't know! Probably – you can't get rid of them. A bit like nits I suppose!" Seela laughed a big comfortable laugh. Her composure had returned with Kiliana's reassurances that she would not be blamed. It might not be true, but there was no point borrowing trouble, and Seela had never been one for that!

oOoOo

Kiliana stayed chatting to the women for a few more minutes, but found out no more. She escaped embarrassed as it became clear that at least half of them thought that she had been breakfasting with the Inquisitor because she had spent the night with him; and her protests were met only with knowing nods. She slammed back into his room with Burdock in tow, hot tears of shame spilling over.

"Is that you, Kiliana?" the Inquisitor's voice called through from the bedroom.

"No, I'm a Callidus assassin with attitude" she replied crossly.

"Come here."

Drat the man, she hoped to gain some composure before he demanded her presence. She went through on dragging feet. Quaestorious gave her a sharp look.

"Whatever is it, child?" he asked. The tears spilled over.

"They think I'm feathering my nest by screwing you" she managed.

"My dear girl, does it matter what they think? You and I both know the truth."

"That's hardly the point, is it – my Lord?" she snorted. "You won't have to live with the jibes afterwards, or the argument that if I've been with you I could go with others."

"You won't be here long, I'm sure. You have a bright and lively mind. Your very sensitivity speaks of a good imagination. I want you to go to the academy on Earth and train as an Inquisitor."

"ME?" She was taken aback.

"You have the sense of justice and the compassion for others – even those you have never met – that is the basis to build on. It will be hard – but the Imperium needs more Inquisitors."

"Can I think about it?" she asked in a small voice.

He looked surprised.

"Yes of course. An unwilling Inquisitor is no good to anyone. But I am sure you will decide the best way. That is why I have been explaining some of the things you have to do – so that you will take the step with your eyes open. But you have the strength so long as you can learn to hide the hurt when people make detrimental remarks about you. Now, what have you learned? We don't have all day!"

Killie summed up briefly and Quaestorious listened without question. He did suppress a shudder when he discovered that the porridge cook, Seela, was none other than the grubby, overblown woman he had met the previous day. It was better not to exercise the imagination too much over that piece of information. Then he commented,

"So, we can put three of the suspects in the kitchen this morning – Derval, Ffarquar and Cybele. We can say that any or all of them might have been there to drug Burdock, but beyond that we have little. However, we may be able to drop the Colonel and Anthony from our list of probables, unless your friend is wrong about when she saw the Colonel."

"He don't come in often or for long." Killie commented. "He don't like knowing anything about real people."

Quaestorious gave a short bark of laughter at her assessment.

"Then his presence would be noticed as something strange?" he queried. She nodded.

"Oh yes, absolutely. Do you want some real porridge now?"

He considered.

"Yes, I believe I shall.. I forgot supper last night. What is the weather like now?" he asked suddenly.

"It's cleared up." She told him.

"Good, the men will be more enthusiastic to search in pleasant weather. When I have eaten, Burdock, summon the Colonel. I wish to issue instructions."

"Awright, me lud!" the Ogryn saluted cheerfully with both hands, and Quaestorious sighed.

"Burdock, why don't you have someone tattoo the word 'salute' on your right hand?" He suggested. Burdock grinned.

"Because I never fort of it before, that's why, me lud!" he grinned.

57


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Colonel Strong had not been enthusiastic when Quaestorious told him what he wanted all the men doing; but he dared not argue with the Inquisitor. Soon all were turned out and detailed to cover different parts of the grounds, with Quaestorious supervising from an invalid grav chair, still looking rather pinched but his eyes bright and piercing as ever. His eyes were everywhere as he watched the groups of men dispersed to all corners of the compound and spread out by the measuring expedient of reaching their left hands across to touch their neighbour's right shoulder. Other search parties had been despatched within the buildings, to cover all parts, even the Colonel's rooms. Even, the inquisitor had told them, his own room. The Colonel had been out supervising the ground search when he had passed on these orders, and Quaestorious took a certain grim satisfaction in the dismay he would feel later on finding that his room had been searched.

"Of course" he remarked sardonically to his two assistants, "The time it took to get together there's a chance the killer may have been able to move some evidence – but that in itself would be suggestive."

"Why, me lud – and how can you tell?" asked Burdock, scratching his head with one fingernail and showering Quaestorious with dandruff. Quaestorious blew the detritus away.

"I can tell because of the weather. It rained last night – and I made my intentions known this morning. I have instructed the men to also look for any areas where they think the ground has been protected. This will also give us clues because if it is moved away, the place it was before must have been incriminating. If it is moved TO somewhere, maybe we shall see a pattern our villain likes to repeat of incriminating others. Note the pot of Vermin Killer in the kitchen, designed to make Seela look if nothing worse at best careless." He added "Together with the original attempt to frame you, Burdock. I have no doubt that the killer would have loved to have let us think that Cringe had been the murderer. It's why I raised my voice to impart the information that I knew he was not. I wanted to provoke him into the open."

"Yeah, and look what happened – we might all have been poisoned!" retorted Killie.

"Truly – though I was alert to alien tastes. It was only the utterly awful nature of the cooking which had me confused temporarily. I was not, though, I confess, expecting poison." He admitted. "Nor yet quite so soon. Our opponent is a clever and ruthless person, ready to react swiftly to any situation. Had it not been for the boy Herrow, this would have been most stimulating!"

"I'm so glad you find being poisoned and puking up stimulating, my Lord Leo" said Kiliana, tartly.

Quaestorious smiled grimly. He was fairly sure he knew what was going on, but he did not wish to make an accusation without more proof. Some of his less talented colleagues, he knew, would put all three remaining suspects to the question with the excuse that it was better to torture the innocent than allow the guilty to escape; but Quaestorious felt that this was nothing more than an excuse for inefficiency. If a man lacked the ability to use reason and had to fall back on torture, it must surely indicate that he had failed. Besides which, torture rarely achieved its objective truly, since victims all too often only gave the answers they felt their interrogators wanted to stop the pain. It was one of the reasons Quaestorious did not relish the forthcoming assignment. Torture of the worst offenders was virtually mandatory as a part of the interrogation of proven heretics, as much as a punishment as to add anything to the knowledge of the Inquisition. However, he knew he would do his duty efficiently, as he always strove to do. And if he privately felt that torture would not bring about repentance and that this being so there was no worse torture than eternal damnation, then he kept his opinions to himself and prayed constantly for guidance from the Emperor. He watched the search with a brooding look upon his face; and sensing his sombre mood his two companions stood silently beside him.

oOoOo

It was not more than half an hour before a soldier came up and saluted.

"Your Eminence, I don't know if this is anything, but you said parts of a dataslab was one of the things we was looking for."

Quaestorious leaned forward, eagerly.

"You have left it where you found it?" he asked.

"Yes, my Lord." The soldier said. "It's – well, it's in the officers' quarters, my Lord."

"Excellent!" Quaestorious' deep eyes smouldered with enthusiasm. "Lead on, soldier."

The praetorian showed Quaestorious and his helpers to one of the rooms occupied by one of the captains. The door plate told them that it was Captain Derval's apartment. The room was furnished somewhere between the early tasteless and the economy gothic. Such efforts as had been made to stamp a personality on the room had succeeded only in making it appear much like standard bureaucrats' offices the Empire over. Though gothic decorative motifs had been applied to furniture it was with a lack of imagination; and the filing cabinet, though covered with raised swags and clusters of grapes remained still very much a filing cabinet, its function drawn to the attention more than disguised. No sign of genuine personal taste flourished; and no sign either of any luxury or sense of well being.

"Interesting." murmured Quaestorious as Burdock pushed him in through the door. "Help me up!"

The soldier's colleague had waited by the find, and now he sprang to his feet and saluted, holding a stiff attention.

"At ease, soldier." murmured Quaestorious. "Show me."

"Sir – my Lord – your Eminence – "

"Oh stick to 'sir' do!" cried the Inquisitor irritably. "Just come to the point!"

"Yes, sir." the soldier, reproved, licked his lips nervously. "It's a part of the clear plastic lid of a dataslab, sir. Here on the floor by the bed. Like it had been smashed up and a bit got left behind." He pointed, and Quaestorious knelt.

"A single broken piece of plastic" he said. "Burdock – take the carpet here and put it severely to the question. Collect all you find from it."

"Sah?" Burdock was puzzled.

"Hang this carpet over a line and beat it, hard. These two soldiers will help you. Sweep up and keep whatever you find that falls from it. Use the gymnasium – there will be too much of a breeze outside." The two soldiers exchanged surreptitious looks at these orders and shrugged slightly at each other. Presumably the Inquisitor did know what he was doing and had not gone barmy. Probably.

"Awright, me lud!" Burdock saluted after a surreptitious glance at his hands. He had taken on board the Inquisitor's idea of marking his right hand, but as there had not been time for a tattoo had settled for ink. .

Killie peered over Quaestorious' shoulder at the piece of broken plastic and exclaimed,

"OH!"

As the Inquisitor turned to look questioningly at her she added,

"Le-Lord, I found something like this earlier today."

"You did? Where? Why did you not tell me?" He glared at her, his hawk like face alive with the hunt. Kiliana quailed gently and she hung her head. She had failed him!

"I did not know it was important" she whispered. "I – I was in the chapel. Praying. And I knelt on it. I just thought someone was being careless. I took it to throw away" quickly she fished in her pocket and pulled out the shard. Quaestorious examined it closely.

"It is the right thickness." He said. "I don't suppose you noticed if there was any more?"

She nodded.

"There were several bits. This was the biggest. There was a lot of fine stuff. I pushed it between two flagstones so it wouldn't hurt anyone else."

His eyes sparkled with wrath and she drew back.

"Our villain thinks nothing of the blasphemy of using the chapel to conceal perfidious murder!" he said between his teeth. "There, child, do not fear. Only the guilty need fear the Inquisition. You have done well. Obviously your steps were drawn to the very place by the Blessed Emperor Himself that you might find this. But why the chapel? Come, let us look!" With an imperious gesture he indicated that Kiliana should push his current transport and she took him to where she had made her find. He grovelled about on the floor with his lens and examined the tiny shards in the crack, and took some in a sample tube.

"Chemical analysis will tell me if these came from the same place as the large piece found in Derval's room." He said. "But I could hope to find the slab itself…. The repairs. They were repairing buttresses with steel rods and poured concrete. See if there is one that has been poured today!"

The girl nodded, and ran over to one of the workmen. On her return she told the Inquisitor,

"That one at the corner – they filled a crack after putting in ties. It's easily accessible, but they stopped for breakfast – it would not be under observation then."

He exclaimed in satisfaction, and called out to the workmen on the roof.

"You men! In the name of the Inquisition!"

They looked startled, and one of them dropped his tools, cringing in fear as a sharp implement narrowly missed Quaestorious. The Inquisitor gave the tool a look of contempt, then ignored the incident. He continued, "Stop what you are doing, all of you – and pray that the concrete in that buttress is not dry. Get it out – you are looking for a dataslab! The man who finds it will have a reward of a thousand credits!"

Quickly the men left their work and hastened to do the Inquisitor's bidding. Quaestorious watched impassively even as Burdock approached him with a plastic container.

"Dis was all dere was – dirt" he said, sounding disappointed. Quaestorious sifted through the dust nodding gently to himself.

"Good – well done, Burdock" he said. "Seal this – I may need it later."

"But – what does it tell us, sah?" Burdock asked, confused. Quaestorious permitted himself a sardonic smile.

"It's what it does NOT tell us that is so important" he said; and would tell Burdock no more.

oOoOo

Presently one of the workmen gave a shout.

"I have it!" he stood up and stepped away from the hole in the buttress with an almost unrecognisable object in his hands.

"Kiliana, run like the wind and wash that off in the vestry before it hardens" Quaestorious told her. She did as she was told while the Inquisitor wrote out a chit for the lucky finder, honouring his promise.

Kiliana returned with dragging steps.

"It's too full of gunk" she sighed. "You'll never get it to work" she displayed the thing that had been a dataslab, clogged entirely with the muddy concrete ooze. All that could be told from the artifact was that it had been a dataslab; and that the clear top cover had been smashed. The Inquisitor took it from her, absently fitting the shard she had found against the sharp edge of the remains of the case, nodding briefly to see the fit. He tried to coax some life from the machine: but to no avail.

Quaestorious shrugged.

"It was a long shot" he admitted. "Thank you for trying. I had hoped for a quick solution, but at least we are a step or two along the way" he sighed, and Kiliana noticed how pinched he was looking.

"You should rest" she said. He waved a dismissive hand.

"No time" he declared.

"I could dump you here to pray so's you'd have to rest" she threatened. He eyed the distance back to the main block.

"Then I'd have to walk" he said. "And if I ceased being able to walk, I should crawl. I cannot let bodily weakness intervene with my work. Especially when that weakness is due to an oversight of my own."

"At least let me take you in for some coffee."

The ghost of a smile touched his mouth.

"Why, child, I thought you'd never offer."

oOoOo

Kiliana made sure Quaestorious stayed in his room resting for a good twenty minutes by dint seeming to be slow and clumsy making coffee. She had a sneaking suspicion that he saw right through her little subterfuges, but he did not chide her. He had insisted on walking to the bathroom to relieve himself, and she suspected that he was shaken by how weak he still was from the effects of the poison. It was, after all, only a few brief hours since it had happened! He must be, she thought, a man of steel to manage even so much as he did! She also managed to persuade him to stay inside to run the chemical tests he had spoken of on the various bits of plastic; and was able to muster genuine awe at the complexities of the alchemical analytical engine. Quaestorious hated praying in front of anybody, especially the strange prayers the machine god required, and mumbled his way through the preparation. It seemed to make little difference to the machine's functioning, and the Inquisitor's scepticism rose another notch. Killie was amazed by the machine's abilities; and Quaestorious proved to his demanding satisfaction what he already knew -–that all pieces of plastic were from the same source. Killie did not feel she could delay him much more after that; but by this time his colour had improved so she stopped trying.

When they did return to the search, the weather had cleared into brilliant weather, chill but bright. The red tunic clad soldiers were bright figures in the landscape, walking slowly at arm's length surveying every inch of ground.

"Doubtless they think this a foolish waste of time" said Quaestorious grimly "but I daresay they care but little. Any break in routine is welcome to a soldier."

Certainly the soldiers didn't seem to mind much; they seemed to be treating the exercise much like a holiday. And judging by scraps of conversation, one lucky man had found several coins – just about enough to cover a round of drinks for him and his friends by way of celebration. Suddenly,

"One of them's found something, down by that fence!" cried Killie.

Quaestorious cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Leave it there, soldier!" He bellowed. Kiliana jumped. "I'm coming over."

Kiliana pushed the impatient Inquisitor across to the find. He could hardly wait to get out of the chair and peer closely at what had been discovered, pushed down in a ditch that marked the inner boundary of the compound. Killie wrinkled her nose.

"I smell burnt stuff." She said.

Quaestorious nodded.

"Someone tried to get rid of this evidence by burning it – just as they tried to get rid of the dataslab in concrete. But the urge to break off a piece of that in order to incriminate Derval was too strong – and led us to its hiding place. Our killer has a big fat chip on the shoulder, a need to put people down. I think that's rather suggestive, don't you?"

"Maybe" Kiliana was cautious. "Couldn't it be a double bluff of Derval's?"

Quaestorious stared at her.

"Yes, it could." He conceded. "After all, he would have the best opportunity to plant the shard on himself." He bent forward. "So, what have we here. A partly burned boxing glove – it was dry when the commissar was killed, I believe, and it would be easy to set a fire. But leather needs a lot of heat to burn, and there just wasn't enough. Our villain dared not make too big a fire in case anyone investigated, the flames had to be shielded by the ditch.. This doesn't look as though it has been moved – see, it's dry underneath. Our killer trusted to the burning to destroy the evidence." Carefully he lifted the abused glove into a container from his collection. He nodded at the soldiers "Well done – I shall recommend extra leave for you." He said. "Carry on looking – it's worth covering the whole camp."

The sotto voce comments of the praetorians carried to Quaestorious' sharp ears, and he smiled grimly to himself. Their opinion of his sanity was immaterial – and probably they were right, there was nothing more to find. But if there was a single clue remaining, he would never forgive himself if he called off the search and missed something.

oOoOo

Back in his quarters, Quaestorious was keen to examine the burned glove. Wearing rubber gloves he carefully teased it apart on a sheet of whit paper.

"Hullo, what's this inside it?" He muttered to himself. Gently he drew out a shred of fabric.

"Looks like bandage." Burdock tried not to breathe too heavily as he leaned over the Inquisitor's shoulder.

"Yes, it is." Quaestorious confirmed. "I imagine that our killer may have used this as padding and protection within the glove. What's this caught to the bandage?" carefully he lifted something with tweezers and peered at it through a glass. It was a small flake of brightly coloured paint or enamel. It was bright red, not far in colour from the tunics of the Praetorian Guard. Quaestorious gave his wolfish grin. "Why I do believe this is the final piece of proof" he said, happily. "Now all my suspicions have been confirmed."

"You might tell us" grumbled Kiliana.

"You have all the facts at your disposal" the Inquisitor was inexorable. "Surely you can work it out?"

She bit her lip.

"That last piece of evidence…. but surely not! How? It seems impossible!"

"Desperation leads to extremes. Fear lends strength – and sometimes cunning. We must now work fast. Burdock, tell the Colonel to assemble everybody – EVERYBODY mind, not just the military personnel – on the parade ground. No-one is to leave for any excuse. No-one at all!"

"Awright, me Lud" the Ogryn started to salute with the wrong hand, checked, and did it correctly. He looked forward to issuing orders to the Colonel; Strong had never hidden the fact that he despised the slow witted warrior. And then he'd find out the answer too! Burdock was quite happy in his simple way. He'd be sorry when the Inquisitor left; he was a good boss to work for.

oOoOo

Quaestorious gathered together his pieces of evidence. He wanted to reveal them as he unravelled the story of what had happened. Showmanship was, he reflected, a weakness and a vanity. But it helped to place everything in order and…

And he was at times weak and vain.

oOoOo

"I will NOT address the camp in that contraption!" He said, indicating the grav chair. "I will consent for you to push me there but then I will stand."

You need a table, Leo" suggested Killie. "You need it for your exhibits. Then you can sit on it like an officer at a briefing."

He considered.

"Very well, see to it." he agreed. "it's a good idea."

"I concur that a chair is not in keeping with the dignity of an Inquisitor" said Killie tartly "But nor is fainting. And I bet you can't guarantee not to."

"Enough is enough. Don't rub it in!" he snapped.. "Just see to it!"

"At your command, my Lord" she said, demurely. He shot her a glance from under his winged brows; but her face was a study of innocence.

"Brat." he growled.

66


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The gathered masses of the military outpost were assembled on the parade ground. The Praetorian Guard stood in a splendid block of scarlet, yellow epaulets waving gently in the light breeze. To the side of them were the various supernumeraries; the contractors who were mending the chapel, the clerks, the preachers and confessors, the women, the wives and the medical staff. It could almost have been a display of military pomp and celebration save for the mood of disquiet. At the front sat the officers, headed by the Colonel; and in front of them a table with a number of strange looking objects on it. Next to the table stood the figure on whom all eyes were fixed: the Inquisitor.

Quaestorious surveyed the crowd. He had picked out a number of rumours from the brief buzz of conversation that had been taking place prior to his arrival in front of the congregation. The men seemed well aware that an officer seemed likely to be accused of the killing of Commissar Sollinius and feelings seemed to be mixed. There were those who would be glad to see the downfall of anyone in authority; those who held judgement; and those who wanted justice – revenge really – for a man who had been a popular officer. Naturally they had fallen silent when Quaestorious had appeared; it was why he had approached from behind them. He let his eyes run across the men, finding most eyes dropping from his gimlet gaze, others holding his eyes with varying degrees of interest and honest curiosity. Few cared to meet his gaze with naked hostility, though he saw it masked more than once. He wondered whether the hostility was directed personally at him, for his investigations or for his failure to prevent private Herrow's death; or whether it was directed merely at his office. Not that it mattered; enmity would not stand in the way of his duty.

He began.

"You all know why I am here. I have come to seek out the killer of Commissar Sollinius. By all accounts he was a good and conscientious officer who did his job as Commissar well, being a father to all his troops as the Emperor is Father to us all."

There was a murmur of the appropriate response of praise. Quaestorious waited until it had died down.

"The killer is a most unscrupulous person whose motives were not even personal – and who has at every step callously tried to throw the blame onto others. The first scapegoat chosen was the faithful Ogryn Burdock, drugged into insensibility while a blow simulating that from an Ogryn fist was used to kill Sollinius."

Burdock blushed like a young girl to be described thus, and grinned self deprecatingly. Quaestorious resumed.

"The murder weapon was this" he held up the soggy remains of the glove. "The killer wore a boxing glove wrapped in lead from the roof of the chapel to make a large wound – and caught Sollinius off guard. However, the wound spoke to me and showed me the truth. I was able to exonerate Burdock immediately. Our killer is cunning – but not clever."

Tiring, Quaestorious hitched one buttock onto the table and leaned forward, his hands resting on his knee.

"At first there seemed a plethora of possible motives – doctrinal, through pique, or to cover up terrible crimes that Sollinius was on the verge of uncovering – as in the case of Cringe. I eliminated the confessor from the first murder on two counts – that his strength was insufficient to make the blow; and that in any case he was left handed and would not have been able to strike at the requisite angle. But as I looked deeper, one fact kept coming back again and again." He paused briefly then stabbed out a finger, at the men, at the sergeants, at the officers.

"You were all conniving to theft!"

There was a gasp around the ranks, and a feeling of tangible fear. Quaestorious let his gaze sweep round again. Fewer could meet his eyes this time. It did not necessarily indicate guilt, of course; the fear was general. It had been known for terrible collective punishments to be enacted on treasonous units. And this was treason! Quaestorious let his gaze soften and spoke softly.

"However, since these thefts were engineered by a mastermind of cunning, no one knew of the scale. Each thought he was just bending the rules a little. Know Ye that this is still theft – but this once I am prepared to be lenient!"

A collective sigh of relief ran round the ground. Quaestorious smiled grimly to himself. Finding all who had contributed would be nigh on impossible – and the likelihood of them forgetting this fright in a hurry was vanishingly low. The Emperor needed the troops more than he needed examples for petty theft, for all that the total mounted to a treasonous loss of materiel. He continued.

"There were a few only in the sort of position to be able to engineer the selling on of this materiel. The officers, some of the sergeants, and such supernumeraries who went regularly to the conurbation for small supplies. Thus I had to cross-reference each of those with other known facts. I could not, for instance" he smiled grimly "See the wife of the Infirmarian able to fell Sollinius, even with a lead knuckleduster." There was brief nervous laughter at this sally, for the lady in question was small, elderly and frail. He added, "I found it very hard to eliminate the Colonel too. It seemed amazing to me that someone in his position should be so stupid as to not be aware of things going on right under his nose."

The Colonel choked in protest and Quaestorious turned to him, one arched eyebrow raised. The Colonel muttered something about a cold and looked away. Quaestorious turned back and spoke on.

"I understand from my records that Sollinius had been here a matter of weeks only - yet he had already uncovered Cringe's perfidy and was about to take steps, and had also discovered this massive conspiracy."

There was a fresh whisper of terror through the men at the word 'conspiracy' and Quaestorious let it run. It did no harm to let the fear of Imperial justice play a counterpoint to both the sublimeness of its mercy and the certainty of its arrival.

"Sollinius had recorded everything on his dataslab" he went on remorselessly, holding up the battered object they had recovered from the concrete. "I found this only today – but I had already begun to understand the full extent of the perfidy before me. You may have heard that an attempt was made on my life – the life of an Inquisitor! The Inquisition would have reacted swiftly and forcefully for that impertinence – but the culprit either did not know this or planned to make a getaway before Imperial Justice fell like a sword from above. This villain cared little what happened to anyone else. Certainly another scapegoat was set up – perhaps it was supposed to look like an accident, for this tub of Vermin Killer was put beside the porridge dixie in an attempt to implicate the innocent cook, Seela." As he held up the offending pot, he paused to glare repressively into the crowd as one wag could not resist making a comment about Seela's continual attempts to poison them all with porridge. The man's friends moved imperceptibly away from him and Quaestorious met his eyes. The man gave a sickly smile and dropped his gaze before the Inquisitor's.

Quaestorious let his eyes sweep around again. All attention was on him, waiting breathlessly for the denouement. But it must be seen to have been reached fairly. Quaestorious knew that he must demonstrate every step of the way. Too often had Imperial officials been accused of being arbitrary. The men here should see that a conclusion had been reached by logical deduction and evidence, not by coercion. They should be in a position to see Imperial Justice at work, even in this far flung and forsaken corner of the Galaxy.

"Here then I was down to three suspects." He explained. "Those people who had possible cause; and those people who had been in the kitchen on the two occasions to be able to drug Burdock and to poison me." He glanced at each in turn. "Captain Ffarquar, an outspoken opponent of Sollinius' leniency, who was leading KD this week. He also has cause to dislike me personally for his posting away from here to a more active unit fighting chaos."

"I protest!" Ffarquar was on his feet.

"Sit DOWN captain!" ground out Quaestorious. "Your eager protestations might be taken by some as proof of intention – it's how you read such things, after all!"

Ffarquar collapsed back into his chair, white faced and mumbling. Quaestorious turned slightly to the next.

"Captain Derval, supply Captain, who claims that he raised the matter of the thefts with Sollinius. But since Sollinius' dataslab rendered nothing but muddy water and no statistics, I have to take his word on that. I also found it incredible that he should be as honest as he appeared and also to have such a phenomenal memory for figures. In short, I was certain that there was something too good to be true about Captain Derval."

The captain did not attempt to interrupt as Ffarquar had, but grew more and more pallid.. Quaestorious let the implications sink in before going on.

"But he was that good. Some men can just remember figures. And he is honest; for he could have done a better job of faking the figures had he not been. The fact that the real killer tried to throw blame onto Derval by planting a small part of the missing dataslab in his room was final proof of his innocence; he does not have the subtlety for the double bluff. That the shard was planted was proven because I put his carpet to torture." There were some nervous laughter, and Quaestoriuos explained. "I had the carpet beaten – for if the dataslab been broken in Derval's room, there would have been tiny pieces of broken transplas in the dust. There was none. Thus the lid was broken elsewhere. Incidentally, it was broken in the chapel – adding sacrilege to an increasing list of crimes. So, Derval is innocent. Just as Ffarquar is innocent of this crime also" there was a buzz of disappointment from the men "For he would not strike a man a foul blow, I think. He would prefer to gloat over the humiliation of a public downfall and shaming." Ffarquar made a strangled noise, and Quaestorious knew that he had assessed the man aright. He paused.

"The culprit is not a man at all!"

The statement shocked them and they stared, open mouthed. He explained.

"Though at first I never seriously considered the possibility of a female suspect despite being told that Cybele hated Sollinius for spanking her in public" – there were several titters – "I watched her dancing in the gym. The strength required in the arm to perform gymnastics is considerable; and it also showed that she had access to such sports equipment as boxing gloves. She had the opportunity in all cases. Her position as supervisor put her in the kitchens on both occasions – and the ability to choose the moment everyone was occupied to drop drugs or poison onto the trays set first for Sollinius' room and then for mine. In the first case, it was easy to select the large helping destined for Burdock. In the second case, she was unconcerned whether it was just I who died, or whether she also killed my young assistant Kiliana, whom I had kept sequestered for the information she had been able to give me that led directly to my deductions over Cybele's financial irregularities. She used Vermin Killer as her poison of choice for me – readily available in the kitchen to keep down the rats and other vermin there. I can have no way of knowing what she used to drug Burdock, but in her room I smelled a cloying scent which, stripped of the overlay of her perfume may be some kind of so called recreational drug. Perhaps she also supplied such perfidious slow poisons."

The guilty shifting amongst some of the men confirmed the guess that he had only just made. He let them squirm, then continued to lay out his evidence.

"Cybele had an asset – control of the favours of the women. She could give – or withhold, in return for…favours. I doubt any of the men she used realised that they were just small cogs in her growing illegal empire. It was a bold crime, undertaken by a bold and unscrupulous woman, who for all her cunning left proof positive of her identity in the glove she used." Cybele looked ready to faint for a moment then rallied, her mind plainly working furiously to refute his accusations.

"This is false, Inquisitor!" she cried. "Who has falsely accused me to you? There is no way you could bring this crime home to me! That little slut is lying!"

But Quaestorious was ready.

"You are a wicked but ignorant woman." He said. "Your actions speak for themselves – and your own vanity betrayed you to me. Here in the glove" he said, holding up his exhibits "We have the bandage with which she enlarged her hand to enable the glove to fit. And on the bandage, a chip of Cybele's distinctive red nail varnish!"

This time the woman did faint.

"Bring her round." Quaestorious was implacable. Burdock picked the woman up and slapped her across the face until she moaned and came to.

Cybele screamed in pure terror. Quaestorious was unmoved.

"You were using the favours of your underlings to persuade the men and officers to steal little things – little things that altogether added up to big things. You delighted in trying to throw the blame onto others – your own feelings of inadequacy over having been always a whore, unable to use your talents to their full led you to want to take revenge on others, especially those you could never fully control or dominate. Burdock stood outside your sphere, and had moreover rescued the child Kiliana from one of the men you set to deflower her by force. Seela disliked you but largely ignored you. Her, er, apparent charms made her independent of needing your help – and I expect she refused to do free jobs for you. She was no young lass to terrorise and beat."

"That's right, luv – er, my Lord!" Seela's voice called out. Quaestorious lifted a hand in acknowledgement. He had almost finished.

"Derval had never, and would never, succumb to your charms. As he held the key to the supplies, this was perceived by you as the ultimate insult. You decided that as he too had opportunity and could be perceived to have had the motive. You are a wicked and conniving creature and you deserve the severest of all possible penalties. However I may be inclined towards a more lenient form of execution if you reveal everything about your accomplices in the conurbation."

Cybele started by screaming imprecations; but as the Inquisitor advanced on her she sank to her knees, weeping and begging him not to torture her. Quaestorious viewed her with disgust.

"You showed no mercy to the women and girls you beat and bullied." He said. "You fill me with loathing. At least Cringe had the excuse of being insane. You have no excuse at all. Now talk."

Sobbing, the woman broke down entirely and Quaestorious was glad to have his dataslab available to record the information that came pouring out. He could place this in the hands of the local authorities and have done with it. As the woman got to the point she was starting to repeat herself, the Inquisitor signalled to have her taken away.

He shook his head.

This was a sordid little case, and he was glad that it was over apart from the loose ends. And one of them was approaching right now.

oOoOo

Colonel Strong came up to Quaestorious, forcing a smile.

"Congratulations, Inquisitor. A splendid job. Truly dramatic summing up. Absolutely masterful…hmm, about your er, detrimental comments about me in front of my men…"

Quaestorious looked at him with some distaste.

"Of course, you cannot be expected to continue serving here." He said. "I will draft a transfer form to somewhere where you can't do too much damage, Captain."

"Er… it's Colonel, Inquisitor."

Quaestorious fixed Strong with a hard stare. He had great pleasure in speaking.

"That's WAS Colonel, Captain Strong. It's called the past tense. Get used to it. And you can count yourself lucky that the demotion is not to lieutenant – or to the LATE Colonel. Such laxity could almost be construed as treason itself. Now get out of my sight. I don't ever want to see you again." He let the contempt show in his voice and turned on his heel and walked away from the open mouthed officer.

oOoOo

Of course, The Inquisitor knew he would have to appoint a new Colonel. Whom to promote was a problem – he had already looked at the records of those officers he had not come into contact with and found nothing exceptional. This place seemed to be the dross house for dead ends. Only two seemed to have any kind of ability at all – young Anthony, who was potentially brilliant if he did not prove too erratic, and for methodical reliability if not sparkling intellect, there was Derval. Anthony was plainly too young, and needed to settle before promotion should come his way. Derval would do an efficiently adequate if rather pedestrian job as Colonel; he had, after all, noticed the thefts. Quaestorious relaxed. That was one problem solved – and Derval had the knowledge to work with the local authorities to clear up their end of the theft business. Now all he had to do was to oversee the execution of the woman Cybele. It would be unpleasant, but then he wasn't in it for bouquets and parties. Quaestorious shrugged, and started back for his room, slow and painful though the progress was. He wanted to walk this, not ride – it helped put his thoughts in order. The late afternoon was glorious and the sun shone with a greater heat than it had done so over the past few days. Quaestorious always liked to be on planets under yellow G-type stars like the one under which he had grown up. Now he could relax and spend some of the few hours he had left here seeking for even fragments of the paintings of the unnamed soldier artist. mayhap one of the soldiers would supply a name. And he would ask Burdock to come with him as a bodyguard and helper. Quaestorious leaned briefly on a wall, and gave a half smile even as he panted for breath..

oOoOo

"Do you need help, my Lord?"

A group of soldiers had approached the Inquisitor, and stood half scared, half eager to help. Quaestorious bit back a sharp retort, and shook his head.

"Thank you, I will manage" he said. Then he thought of the painting. "But something you can do – there is a painting in the corridor of the officer's quarters, and another that Sollinius had rescued from the criminal vandalism of burning that Strong told me he undertook when the artist died. If there are any other paintings or fragments left, I would wish to know. Not" he added hastily "That I wish to deprive any owners of such prizes, but if there are any damaged paintings, I may be able to help with restoration to preserve these treasures."

The guardsmen exchanged looks. One of them seemed tacitly elected spokesman, an older man with the insignia of a sergeant.

"Your Eminence, the artist was called Reef Teeg. There are some intact paintings that he gave away. Cybele got hold of some too, and sold them, I guess. She put out word for any when the rest were burned. The one Sollinius has – had – was one offered to her that she threw in the rubbish when she saw it was damaged at the edge."

"Uncultured creature!" gasped Quaestorious.

"Was he so good then?" asked the sergeant.

"Oh yes. I would feel it worth while for the Empire to pay for experts to come and mend as best as possible those fragments just to preserve them for the future."

They saw that he was serious.

"Lord, if that were possible, it would be wonderful. Please, what will happen to the picture of the Emperor?"

Quaestorious considered.

"I am loath to deprive your regiment of it." he said. "It has brought me much pleasure during my stay here. What is the will of the comrades of Reef Teeg?" He fixed them with a steely look. There was another exchange of looks.

"Lord" said the sergeant "Reef would have asked if you would condescend to accept it as a gift if you liked it, same as he always did if folk liked his pictures. We would be honoured if you would take something to remember us by with something other than distaste."

"Then gladly I accept the gift." Said Quaestorious, moved.

75


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 **

Quaestorious was glad to sink back into a soft chair with a cup of coffee. He had no intention of admitting that the walk had exhausted him, but he had to admit to himself that he needed more rest than he thought. At least he had learned that more of the work of Reef Teeg had survived – and he had the blessing of the man's friends to take the picture that had so inspired him. He smiled thanks at Burdock, and addressed him casually.

"Burdock, how would you feel about coming along with me?"

The big Ogryn grinned.

"As your bodyguard, me lud?"

"Bodyguard and assistant. You're very reliable. And" he teased "You make good coffee."

"I'd like that, sah. Only… what about my uniform?"

"What about your uniform?"

Burdock plucked at his threadbare red tunic.

"I'd not be a Praetorian no more." He explained. "And I likes the colour. An' I might trip over a robe."

Quaestorious concealed a smile.

"I daresay we can find you something as nice" he consoled. "Something snappy, eh, and a red cloak?"

Burdock brightened visibly.

"Yeah, dat would be dead good!" he agreed enthusiastically. "Black levver boots an' trousis an' a nice bright yeller jacket an' a red cloak wiv green linin'!"

Quaestorious did not shudder.

"It sounds lovely and colourful" he said. "But you must keep it clean and nice" he appreciated the training in hygiene that Sollinius had given the Ogryn, encouraging him to wash regularly, if not frequently, and cleaning his teeth and fangs most days.. Burdock was nodding enthusiastically.

"I kep' these good free years, see" he said proudly.

"You've not been re-issued clothes in three years? Is that your only set?" he tutted as Burdock nodded. Of course, many in the higher command were less scrupulous about outfitting abhumans than they were about normal troops. In fact, thinking about it, Quaestorious could not remember any units of Ogryn he had seen outside of the Praetorians who did sport uniform rather than rags. He sighed.

"I'll see you dressed properly" he said. After all, he had a reasonable budget. It was only right and proper that his staff should be outfitted in a quality consonant with his dignity as an Inquisitor. Even if he would not have chosen the colour scheme himself!

Burdock shut his eyes and grinned. He was imagining his new finery to himself. Quaestorious smiled. If only all humanity could be so easily satisfied – something to reach their aesthetic senses and a little affection. This simple man was a lesson to all, with his easily satisfied needs and his child-like faith that the Emperor and his servants would sort out all trouble.

"Come now, Burdock, stop dreaming" he said, not unkindly. "If you get our packing sorted, then I'll take you into the city before we leave and you shall choose some material to have made up on board ship."

He could also find a picture restorer and send him to see the sergeant he had left to supervise the work on the picture fragments.

"Awright me lud!" Burdock's happy, toothy grin split his face as he cast a surreptitious eye downwards and saluted with the hand that now said 'smear' where he had wiped the ink half off. "An' I'll havta get dat tattoo done too."

Quaestorious nodded.

"Time enough when we're off this place" he said.

oOoOo

There was a little tug at Quaestorious' elbow.

"What about me?" Killie wanted to know. Her eyes were big, dark and apprehensive in her too pale face.

Quaestorious looked down at her with a mixture of irritation and affection.

"You've done very well, child" he said. "Had I not said so?"

"I didn't mean that" she was reproachful. "I mean, please won't you take me with you too?"

"You are not ready for where I go" he said gently. "You will be going to the academy soon enough. I will write, if you would like."

She pulled a face.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for the academy yet" she said. "Besides, as soon as you go, it's going to be miserable" she didn't say, but he knew she meant that the other women would pester her for details of his performance in bed, whether Inquisitors were like normal men, and force her to lie with others before an Inquisition ship arrived for her. Cybele would not have been alone in her greed over getting as much out of the girls as possible. Seela might be kind, but Quaestorious suspected that she had neither the impetus nor the ability to lead.

"You know where I go next" he warned.

"But if you want me to be an Inquisitor too, I'll need to get used to unpleasant things" she countered.

"You're very young."

"Yes. And I need to learn more from you before I get pitchforked into the academy."

He shot her a glance from his deep set eyes. She held his gaze.

"Please?" it was a cry from the heart.

"Well…" he was weakening.

"I can make myself useful. And I can make sure when you're on planet that all your food is alright because I can prepare it all."

"Yeah." Burdock entered the debate. "She can cook real well. An' it 'd be safer for you. An' me" he added thoughtfully.

"And how can I go to the academy when I know next to nothing about the Emperor?" Kiliana threw in what she evidently regarded as the clincher.

"It is against my better judgement" sighed Quaestorious. "But I suppose you leave me little other honourable choice. I cannot leave you here after all your help – it would be the grossest ingratitude. And you are right, it would be helpful to have a cook on my staff. But Kiliana!" he added seriously. She cocked her auburn head on one side and looked as seriously up at him. He spoke sternly. "You must be aware that my work is dangerous. Never ever wander off alone, or speak freely to strangers. If any thought that you were anything to me, you might be used as a lever – either by kidnap or by being accused of heresy" he nodded as she looked shocked and scared. "There are those who might try to force me to put you to the question – as a perceived form of revenge, or as a type of blackmail. And I should have to take any such accusations seriously."

Kiliana digested this.

"In that case" she said quietly "I guess I'd have to place my trust in you and the Emperor that you'd find the truth out quickly – or kill me out of hand and let me stand before the Eternal Throne for justice."

Quaestorious was filled with pride for his protégé. She would do just fine. He grunted, to hide his emotion.

"So long as you understand it" he said, and cleared his throat. Suddenly he felt very tired. "I'm going to go and lie down" he said. "Wake me in a couple of hours, Burdock, for that trip."

oOoOo

On the supply ship, Quaestorious stood looking out to the stars. Behind him, resplendent in his colourful costume was Burdock, still able to treat space travel with the enthusiasm of a child at a party. Kiliana too was there, dressed like Quaestorious in a simple black robe, all enveloping and protecting her budding curves from public gaze. One day she would learn to be comfortable with herself; but for now the Inquisitor was willing to indulge her desire to hide. Moreover, as a potential apprentice Inquisitor, modest attire was appropriate. He deplored her decision to hack her mane of red hair short; but it was her hair after all.

The next few days, or weeks were going to be unpleasant, and Quaestorious was glad of the company of his new staff for support. And in his cabin, mounted now in a travelling altar, the painting of his beloved Emperor, calming his tumult and bringing peace to his heart. It was the only truly luxurious thing he had ever owned; but despite his rejection of a luxurious lifestyle as detrimental to one dedicated to a stern life of doctrine and prayer, Quaestorious was certain that it had been meant to be that this wonderful painting would travel, bringing joy to all with whom he prayed. He knew that he had coveted the wonderful thing from the moment that he saw it; but he hoped the Emperor would forgive his sin if he did not hoard it to himself alone. Though few others would condemn his keeping of a gift freely given, Quaestorious himself wondered if he had done the right thing. It was hard to follow the path of righteousness all the time; but he would try. An Inquisitor had to be above reproach.

**Finis**

79


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